


Last Place ; First Choice

by comete, deflatedorange



Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: (you know how it is), AU, Aquaberry Destruction, Casual Prep Behavior, Duncan - Freeform, Everyone Is Gay, Gary is Gary, Ghosts, Gord Vendome - Freeform, Gord Vendome is a Drama Queen, Jimmy is Bi King, OCs of friends used briefly, Other, Petey is OOC because he has a backbone, Petey x Gary, Possible Redemption?, Psychofluff, Riot of the Black Death, TAGS WILL BE ADDED AS IT IS UPDATED, Vance x Bryce, Zoe Taylor - Freeform, haunting AU, he is here and queer!!!!!!, oooo ghosts ooo spooky, she's a rockstar and we love her, you've played bully
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25219126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comete/pseuds/comete, https://archiveofourown.org/users/deflatedorange/pseuds/deflatedorange
Summary: Death is permanent. Supposedly.
Relationships: Jimmy Hopkins/Gord Vendome, Peter "Petey" Kowalski/Gary Smith
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	1. Haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No, Pete knew. He was confident that the only thing he knew was that he knew absolutely nothing."

Which of the following conditions on Mars would be the first to kill a human who is unprotected and unassisted by life support?

A) Colder than Antarctic temperatures.  
B) Low air pressure.  
C) High CO2 atmosphere.  
D) Excess solar radiation.  
  


_What?_

  
Did it _really_ matter the vastly different ways you could succumb to an ugly death when imprisoned on a distant asteroid without a way back to your home planet? Petey furrowed his eyebrows together, shifting them towards the middle of his forehead in confusion while gawking at the test question that had stopped him from proceeding on with the exam. 

_Okay, well, let’s see._

Cold temperatures were an issue, but you wouldn’t freeze to death instantly, right? Low air pressure probably just meant you would be a tad light-headed. High CO2 _could_ cut off your oxygen, but burning alive in the sun is also on the shitlist of problems heading your way. It was a, in Peter’s young opinion, a stupid question to ask. Sure, it was entertaining to think about some bad Hollywood actor playing the part of damsel Astronaut in distress, but did it truly matter which came first? 

Chicken, egg, or solar radiation _(or maybe it was carbon dioxide?)_

As the senior took in a sharp inhale, he elevated his dipped down head away from the paper packet and surveyed the room around him. The other students that bled of various cliques were working away at the quiz _(those who bothered to get a nice grade, anyway)_ while Peter sat in the back, dumbfounded at the practicality of a mortality proposal. Shaking his head, drumming his graphite tipped golden pencil against the plank desk that held carved profanities, Petey clicked his tongue once in confidence of failing the question. It didn’t matter, in retrospect, if he missed a single question. That wasn’t the point he was making. It was the principal of the entire thing. 

Asking high schoolers to answer problems that held no relevancy just didn’t click well with Petey. It was important to know _(apparently)_ the different volumes of carbon in the Mars air or the effects the solar rays can have on a person, but what was the point of it all? What was the purpose of getting good grades and passing a test that simulated a stranger in peril when the moment he left the classroom doors Pete would be subjected to bullies seeking to harm him for simply existing?

How can  
  


_“Ha. Easy. It’s C. You need oxygen to breathe so you can live, idiot.”_

  
A gasp blended with a small half-shout instantly escaped Petey’s lips as he almost fell out of his chair at the unexpected voice that breathed directly into his ear. Grasping the table for support from the wobbling sky-blue chair, a few students made the effort to turn their heads to get a glimpse of the outburst in the back of the classroom. The faces that stared back at a flustered Peter included, unfortunately, science professor Slawter who merely scowled at him with a protruding lip that displayed annoyance. Pete half laughed at himself, cheeks burning bright with the eyes of multiple cliques now on him. The classmates eventually turned away, two from the Prep clique scoffing as they resumed their conversations of the upcoming Fall collection in the newest fresh line of Aquaberry.

Peter whipped his head back, once the class resumed ignoring his existence, glaring directly into the eyes of Gary Smith who stood to his right with a smug mile-long grin plastered across his faux friendly face. Drawing out a little chuckle at the embarrassed reaction of Pete that coupled together with general irritation at the surprise, Gary shrugged his shoulders once and straightened his posture from leaning down to Peter’s ear to standing tall in a uniform stance. “You know,” Gary lifted a hand to communicate as he articulated while he walked ahead towards the front of the class, passing down by the slim aisles of desks filled with students. 

“It would be in your best interest to at least _try_ to gain some environmental awareness. I was standing there for _at least_ a solid two minutes. I gave up waiting for you to notice, honestly. It was painful watching you try and resolve such a simplistic obstacle that I thought I would spare us both from another second of agony and just tell you the answer.”

Gary turned on his heel to face Peter once he made it to the front of the classroom, standing at the head of the teacher’s desk with his arms now crossed in disappointment at the lack of awareness Petey conducted. His words spoke of fake concern, every speech that left his lips always dripping with sarcasm that he never seemed to forget when hurling insults. “You could’ve just _asked me,_ you know? People need oxygen to breathe, Peter. Let me know if you need help writing your own name, okay? Those _E’s_ in _‘Petey’_ can be tricky!”

Swaying his head in disapproval, Peter bit his tongue and returned his attention to the test with the promise of not giving Gary the satisfaction of an argument. 

Despite how bad he wanted to retort. 

Though admittedly reluctantly, Pete let out a silent sigh and scribbled in the black ink printed test bubble that corresponded with answer C: High CO2 atmosphere. Moving on to the next question on the sheet, Pete paid no mind to Gary as the bored student took in the faces of the classmates before him. The other scholars didn’t acknowledge Gary’s existence, nor did the teacher. All of them remained chatting or half filling out the questionnaire that was laid in front of them. Arms crossed tightly over his chest, Gary tsked to himself while observing the state of the world’s next-generation before him.  
  
It was a sad sight, truly.

Jocks whose muscles determined their future careers, a strength that will fade rapidly the second they get even the _slightest_ taste for junk food and the first sign of a receding hairline. Oh, the Preps, too. God bless their corrupt souls. Stupid apples falling, nay, _crashing_ down from the wealthy trees of their parents' good fortune. Never having to work a day in their lives, happily taking a CEO position they are underqualified and too immature to handle. Gary bit back a smile at the idea of seeing their family names tarnished in no time at all once their inbred offsprings became in charge. He was excited at the likelihood of reading another big name come crashing down due to poor financial footwork and general weakness. Greasers who were two steps away from being bottom-feeder Townies, Nerds that may hold a job but will forever be involuntarily celibate. 

_Ah, such is life._

_What about Jimmy Hopkins?_ He wasn’t even worth mentioning, really, except for the fact that he is everything wrong in the world rolled up into one stupid, flat-faced feebleminded moronic ape. There was not a single word that could accurately describe the sheer colossal of idiocy that lived in James. He was a boy of few words, lacking in any comprehensive abilities that could even begin to _grasp_ a form of education. He was a leech to society due to being so moronic that he is unable to learn any new skill, uglier than sin in his putrid appearance, and promoting that lazy can, _and will,_ take on a whole new meaning, not before thought possible.

And then there was Peter Kowalski. Non-clique, a great place for him, though not that he ever had much of a choice. No other clique or student would accept him, unfortunately for him. He was an outcast in the group of outcasts. Gary tapped his foot in thought while his eyes remained focused on the boy who sat alone in the back of the classroom, still flipping through the pages of the quiz with the gears in his head turning at the scientific equations. It was their Senior year and still, Pete sat alone without a single friend to turn to with a question regarding the test. 

_Well, except Gary, that is._

Gary paused the tapping of his foot, uncrossing his arms while smoothly sliding his hands into his pressed khaki pockets with his observational gaze on Peter still heavy. He cocked his head to the side, neck popping quietly a single time. “Petey,” Gary said as he broke his silence. Still, nobody through the classroom looked up. Except for Peter. “Why were you stuck on that question?”

It bothered Gary, for some unknown reason. The heat on the back of his neck grew warmer with irritation at the embarrassing amount of time it had taken the student to respond to the simple puzzle, watching him struggle to piece together that humans needed oxygen to breathe above all else coming their way. Gary questioned to himself if he had misjudged the level of intellect he had branded Peter with. He didn’t believe for a moment that Pete was a secret genius, no, but Gary had also noted that the boy was considerably smarter than most of the students that walked the hall. Pete would never be a peer, though it was worth mentioning his above-average intelligence. 

Petey sat down his pencil with his left hand, watching the unmoving statue of Gary who was now comfortably seated on the lip of the desk that belonged to the uncaring professor. Peter rustled, drawing his perplexed eyebrows together, “Really? Dude, just let it go.”

Shaking his head, refusing to accept that brush off as an answer, Gary continued to press on with the full intention of getting a reply out of Pete. “No, I want an answer. I’m starting to think that maybe I was too gracious in accessing your mental capacity. I want to know _why_ it didn’t occur to you that humans needed oxygen.”

Gary was trying Petey’s patience today. Well, no, more like _every single waking second._

“Gary,” Peter replied firmly, eyes not flickering away when he met the taller’s sight from across the classroom. _“Drop. It.”_

It had been a brief moment of hesitation in answering the exam question, nothing more than consideration for life outside of the classroom and the incomprehensible mystery of why teachers pinned such useless topics on high schoolers. He hadn’t much been studying the question, more of the purpose, and now he was being harassed by Gary on top of it?

Peter curved down to his nearly finished quiz as the clock continued to tick with the ever-growing anticipation of class soon releasing for the day. It was the final period and having dealt with Gary all morning was emotionally weighing on Pete. Though, he should’ve guessed the instant the words of defiance left his mouth that there would be a repercussion heading his way.

 _'Drop it?’_ That was not going to fly with Gary.

Gary simply smiled at the increase of confidence Pete had gathered after the months of hanging around the mouth-breather that was James Hopkins. It was almost endearing, witnessing the coming-of-age Petey that now declined to remain silent when being tormented and teased by Gary. Too bad he wasn’t poised with the bullies that continued to make his life a living hell day after day. It was only Gary that he had grown comfortable enough with to simulate a false sense of resilience. Now the easy task of calling his bluff presented itself by landing at the feet of Smith. 

A smirk invaded the corners of Gary’s mouth as he used his flat-facing palms to push himself lightly off of the rim of the teacher’s desk, eyebrow cocked with an _almost_ impressed comment. Pete getting some balls? Not likely. Gary had known the weak framed kid for years now, having met and bonded together in middle school over how much they hated the majority of their “peers,” since then being natural allies against the bullies that ran the place. For the most part, Gary accepting the reality that Peter was a tolerable presence. But, of course, he had a rule to live by.

Friends were for the weak and Gary knew he was anything but. 

No, Gary couldn’t let this show of resistance slide. Petey thinks he is big and bad because he hung out with a guy who was as brilliant as the world was flat? Jimmy’s long-term effects on the human mind were clear by the way Peter struggled to answer a simple question, Gary concluded. It was time to remind Pete just how powerless he really was, despite the sudden show of courage.

 _“Drop it,”_ Gary muttered to himself while taking a few steps backward away from the desk, heading towards the front chalkboard of the room. _Who did Pete think he was?_ _‘Drop it.’_ It ate at Gary’s skin, tingling sensation commencing in his chest near his heart and spreading like fire to the rest of his body. Gary was taking another daring step towards the front class when Pete’s head darted up to get a view of what the school’s psychopath was up to. 

  
Oh no.  
 _Oh, shit._  
  


Pete felt his _own_ skin begin to crawl, the feeling of a thousand swarming ants dancing across his body busily without any regard. The boy sitting at the desk shook his head quickly, the confidence he had moments ago having rapidly faded and replaced with immediate panic as he saw Gary walking backward. Their eyes were locked, silently both of them knowing what was coming next. Petey whispered out in desperation, eyes overflowing to the brim with anxiety, _“Please, don’t, pl-”_

He was cut off, however, by Gary talking over him. “No,” the taller boy pronounced with tight lips despite the smirk that threatened to appear on his mouth. “You seem to have f _orgotten_ how this works. Not your fault. Jimmy was an awful influence on you. You just need a, mm, _reminder.”_

And, with that, Gary Smith walked backward straight through the solid school wall into the proceeding classroom on the other side. 

Instant pain flooded Peter and Gary both alike. The wind was knocked loose from Pete’s chest as he half lunged forward onto his desk, seizing the sides of it for leverage as the searing hot pain penetrated and covered his entire physique like a blanket made of hot lava. He clutched the desk harshly, squeezing his eyes shut with trembling hands and knuckles that went white due to the force of holding on for dear life. A sound of a high pitch squeal screeched through his mind, tormenting to shatter his eardrums as the ferocity of pressure enhanced the further Gary walked. Blinded by the pain, a bright light blurred his vision as colorful shapes danced around him in an orchestra of white-hot misery battered his body without any indication of settling.

_“Please! I’m sorry!”_

The pain ceased a moment later. As quickly as it came on, it went away at the same rapid pace. It was as if someone had flipped a switch and simply turned off the lava activity that had played on his skin milliseconds ago, no hint of the episode having occurred at all besides the faces of the classroom that gaped at him from the outburst. There wasn’t any burn marks or red rashed skin to bring forth any evidence that he had experienced being burnt alive. The ringing squeal had frozen the second Gary had elected to step back through the wall, the noise that was more emphatic than any booming decibels now only an echo in his mind. Petey gritted his teeth, headache pounding through his school as he bit the bullet and raised his head to view the classroom before him.

Every face in the room stared back at him. 

A few were smiling, thumbs up flashing with pride of the quietest kid in school now abruptly disrupting the flow (and especially during a silent test). Most of his peers though, however, were glaring at him with disinterested faces and annoyed scowls. Swallowing despite his mouth having gone bone dry, Peter cleared his throat and discharged his death hold that he had on the desk, easing back down into his blue synthetic chair once more. He stuck his hands under the table and fumbled with his fingers back and forth while peering down at his paper, silent with positivity that he had no idea what to utter that would justify his scream(s). _What could he say?_

_That Gary Smith was a living dead ghost that was tethered to his body?_

Pete didn’t have to look up to know that the class professor was writing him up as the other students began murmuring amongst them, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with Peter. Words were passed around the class as Pete’s hands quivered, keywords being made out such as, _“-his marbles”,“-no reason”,_ and, _“-crazy.”_

Through the whispers surrounding him and anxiety that rocked his body, Pete still managed to lift his head back up one final time to get a glimpse at the boy who had moments prior spawned an unbearable amount of humiliation and pain onto him all at once. Gary was smiling at the bow of the class, hands fashioned in taught fists from the equal amount of pain that was inflicted on him. He had done it just to be an asshole, Peter knew, lowering his eyelids into a fierce squint that conveyed strong negative feelings. It wasn’t hate, Pete understood. He didn’t hate Gary, despite all of the bullshit the student had put him through. No, the feeling was something other than downright hate.

Hate was too simple of a word. Peter’s feelings were far more complex than just “hate”.

The classroom bell rang out to alert the ending of the school day. _Finally._ The students all it once rose from their seats and clamored towards the classroom door that exited towards their freedom. Yelling and shoving were heard amongst the Bully clique that pushed out who they could to ensure they were the first ones to have a turn at the Boys’ Dorm arcade game, laughing the entire time without a care beyond who scored the game first.

Pete stood gradually from his desk, knees wobbling from the intense distress that he had just encountered during class. He pulled up his dark blue backpack off of the lint spotted floor and seized the science quiz that he never finished. After the remainder of the students trickled out into the hallway, Petey dragged his feet to the front of the class where he purposefully avoided any acknowledgment of Gary’s smirking, smug presence. 

Professor Slawter held between his two thin, long fingers a single pink-slip of paper with smudged ink wrote on it, no doubt Peter Kowalski scribbled on the name line. Pete silently reached out to grab it but found Slawter’s hand retracting away as he shook his head with a worn frown. “Peter,” he spoke with his eyes engrained on the boy. “What was all of that? It’s not like you to behave in such a manner. I’ve had the privilege of having you in my class the last four years, so please, _enlighten me_ of why today of all days you’ve decided to make an _ass_ out of yourself in front of my pupils?”

_Ouch. Okay. That was fair._

“Well, um-”

“Because it seems to me,” Slawter continued, standing from his desk and placing the pink-slip on the top of the test packets that were turned in. “That you’ve been hanging around that Hopkins boy, isn’t that correct? That hoodlum that kisses _both_ genders and has _no_ regard for skateboard helmet safety? Am I wrong?”

“No, but-”

“Ah! So I am right! Well,” the professor swung his head and didn’t even try to give a feeble attempt at hiding his frustration. “What am I to conclude from your shouting today other than he is corrupting you? You of all people! One of my brightest s _ubj-_ students! You were even _going_ to be Headboy! Tell me I’m wrong Peter. Tell me what is going on with you to have caused you to behave like an uncivilized anti-vaccination parent!”

_What?_

Peter withdrew his gaze down to the floor. Half in shame, half in exhaustion. The pain of being separated from Gary drained him like a battery nearly every time. He was tired, aching, and had a humility experience that he knew would contribute to the laundry list of social trauma he already had going for him. With a small shake of his head, Petey fondled with a loose string on his navy blue uniform while sucking in a deep breath to try and level himself out. He _knew_ Gary was floating nearby, no doubt smiling a predatory shark grin at the prospect of Jimmy being reprimanded for doing absolutely nothing. 

“I’m just… Going through a lot right now, sir.”

 _Eh, it was an honest answer._ Gary shrugged his shoulders while he idly levitated nearby, observing the conversation unfold while hovering boredly around the pair. He circled the teacher and student as they spoke, hands stretched out and holding behind his head as a cushion while his body floated by. It was great to see that the teachers _still_ didn’t trust Hopkins despite the boy being the most popular kid in school. It was wise of them, Gary agreed, to remember of how he was before he got into a position of power. How he _still_ was. 

Jimmy hadn’t changed much beyond getting a small attitude adjustment and, no doubt, more sloppy seconds from each clique's male and female adoring fan. It disgusted Gary, the amount of disease that Jimmy was publishing through the school as if it was going out of style. He was a one-stop-hot-spot for every STD imaginable, that was for sure. 

Turning his body to float on his stomach a few feet off the ground, Gary relaxed his hands comfortably together and used his arms as a pillow for his chin. “Tell him it was Jim, Pete. He already believes it. You get off with a warning and James gets detention. Win-win-win. We all win.”

But, despite his direction, Petey remained silent as the professor handed him the single piece of paper. 

_Of course._

“You know something, Peter?”

 _No,_ Pete knew. He was confident that the only thing he knew was that he knew absolutely nothing. That must’ve been the case, right? It had to be because he didn’t know how he kept ending up in situations where Gary was dragging him down with trouble even though the student was literally _dead._ In the ground. Rotting. 

_“No.”_

Again, a fair answer. Slawter talked anyway as Petey took the scrap of colored paper from his hands, reading the detention slip that ordered him to return to school the next day and stay for two entire hours after class. “I’m going to inform you then. You’re too smart to let people influence you into making stupid choices. I’ve been here for years and trust me, there have been some duds. A lot of them. Nobody else is going to tell you this except Burton and I have a feeling that you, um,” the professor did a once over at Petey’s frame. Yeah, it was clear Peter wasn’t an Olympic runner up. Still, it didn’t make Pete feel any better that _this_ was the best deal he got out of puberty. What the actual shit, God? _Are you even up there?_

“-don’t spend too much time around his class. Anyway,” the teacher waved a wand to dismiss his train of thought regarding Pete’s athletic abilities. “You have a bright future ahead of you, but only if you choose it. You won’t get there by hanging around Jimmy Hopkins and that, uh, that one boy. The one that passed away, um, _tragically_ recently.”

At this, both of the boys lifted their heads up to look at the teacher.

Peter cringed, physically contracted his face, at the mention of the ghost that floated next to him. The spirit that was, indeed, hanging around and dragging him down. It was harsh to be told you were getting in the way of someone’s future, but Slawter didn’t know the _half_ of it. Pete wanted to, to save his skin from being deemed as a freak from his outburst, explain that he was just the smallest, tiniest, microscopically _fucking stressed_ due to having the specter of one of the, if not _THE,_ most twisted student haunting him every second of every day year-round. He had a feeling, though, that if he did tell Slawter the revelation that he would be deemed as a freak for _another_ reason.

_“Gary Smith?”_

Slawter clapped his hands together once, snapping with his right hand immediately after the action in the physical display of an _“a-ha!”_ moment. “Yes! Gary Smith. That little _cree-_ anyway, doesn’t matter. You get the point. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow after class, young man. I want you to really think about how great other people’s influences are on you and the roads they’ll lead you. They won’t be serving prison time in your place when they throw you under the bus, will they?”

_Or a literal bus._

“No, they won’t,” Peter responded as he picked up his bag off of the ground once more, dropping the test on the top stack of papers before he turned to exit the class. His hand scrunched the detention slip into a wad while he opened the door leading to the hallway, jaw tightly clenched in frustration and simple exhaustion. 

He felt Gary’s presence looming behind him, floating soundlessly in a manner that made the hairs on the back of Petey’s neck stand straight up. He knew Gary was mad, positive without even asking. To be called, basically, a loser and creep by a guy like _him?_ That had to suck. It was odd, though, Pete noted as he walked through the empty halls to eventually make his way to the front doors that exited to the outside world. Gary was always vocal about his hate. What gives?

Petey didn’t want to talk to Gary, no, quite the opposite, but silent Gary Smith was a sinking feeling in his stomach that he knew meant nothing good. Pete’s shoes squeaked in the shined floors of the hallway as he walked alone _(well, kinda alone),_ prompting him to break through the quiet and question the ghost that haunted him. “You good, man?”

There wasn’t a response for a few moments, Pete’s curiosity burning into him as he wondered if Gary had faded back into the corners of Peter’s mind as he did on occasion. He wasn’t always present, though more often than not he was. Gary could go into a sleep-like state where his spirit would fade somewhere into Pete’s body, emerging when Gary was ready to be seen. Unfortunately for Pete, however, Gary wasn’t exactly shy of exposure.

“I’m _fine,_ Petey. Just thinking, though it's not like you or anyone else at this school would know what that was like.”

It bothered him. It shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t, the opinion of someone like Professor Slawter being no better than any other moronic faculty staff. So why did it bother him so much? Why was it eating at Gary that his own homeroom teacher had forgotten his _name?_ He hadn’t even been dead that long. A few months was all. He wasn’t forgettable, no way. After the whole roof debacle? No. Gary Smith wasn’t forgettable. Ordinary. _Boring._

_Was he?_

The rest of the walk back to the door was, for the most part, a weird comfortable silence. Pete was still pissed at Gary _(what’s new),_ but both of the boys were equally lost in thought. Each for different reasons, but all of which surrounded the strange paranormal situation that intertwined their lives together.


	2. The Cult of Dionysus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is this what it was like to be a teenager?"

“I fell off of the tallest building in the Industrial Park while being hunted down by a crazy stalker who wanted a piece of my hair so they could clone me and steal my DNA. I slipped at the top right as I was about to pull a gun and defend myself. I did eight back flips and landed with a splat. Blood everywhere. A massive crime scene with an even bigger funeral. Closed casket, of course.”

No. That wasn’t it. _Well, maybe._ It was possible, right?

Peter cleared his throat as he considered Gary’s words, observing the ghost float through the air lazily on his back. “No, see,” Pete addressed as he used his right hand to point at Gary. “There’s too much going on leading up to it. Deaths in teenagers are usually spontaneous, tragic, and sudden. That means you would, _A: have to already have a stalker_ and _B: get a gun beforehand._ ”

Gary rolled his eyes, crossing his arms while he hovered off the ground, going in no particular direction. “Uh, sorry to break it to you, Pete, but Burton doesn’t just have eyes for _you_.”

Wow! That was _gross_.

The boy resting at his desk in detention chuckled softly, shaking his head at the devious smile painted across Gary‘s face. “Gross, man,” Pete chimed, though he was confronted by Gary protesting with, “It’s true!”

It was a fun way to spend detention, though the broader look at the conversation was grim and bleak. They were collaborating, trying to figure out how exactly the infamous Gary Smith had succumbed to extinction, albeit in a more lighthearted, comedic sense. The entity couldn’t recall much of the events leading up to his demise, including his actual death, and Gary had made it quite clear that he would never kill himself _(mostly out of being too stubborn)._ This then led to the question of, _‘how did you die,’_ being asked. They were serious about it at first, but after an hour or so in Slawter’s room, they had both decided to start drumming up the most wild ideas they could come up with in order to fill the void of time. The only indication of what could’ve possibly happened was the clothing Gary wore. He was in a white button-up, one that reflected the previous school uniform that he wore underneath his vest. However, replacing the Bullworth vest was instead a loose hospital-looking gown shirt being worn on top of the white button-up. His pants were his school khakis, shoes being the same black sneakers he always wore.

They didn’t acknowledge this, however; It worried Peter to think about what actually could’ve gone on before Gary was killed.

The professor was out of the room, only having unlocked the door to let Petey in before heading off in a distant direction. Gary had suggested that they just leave, but Pete knew that would only result in more time spent in detention. Besides, he wasn’t having a particularly horrible time. He should’ve been mad at Gary for being the reason they were stuck in detention in the first place, but there was a list of _hundreds_ of things Peter should’ve been upset about that involved Gary Smith.

And had he ever acted on any of those things?

Pete sighed inwardly; He just added it onto the record and moved on.

“Alright,” Gary spoke as his translucent body hovered by, “How about this one? I ran into a burning building to save a box of kittens that were trapped. While I was running and rescuing and doing all those heroic things, I got caught under a fallen beam and burned to death. Pretty badass, right? The kittens got charred and also they are ghosts now, too, which kinda sucks. But, eh, you win some and you lose some.”

Pete drummed his fingers on the top of the worn desk, a smile creeping onto his lips at the ridiculousness of the statement. “Really? I don’t think _‘Gary Smith’_ and _‘rescuing’_ can ever fit in the same sentence unironically. Not without the world exploding, or a paradox of some kind ripping a hole in the space-time continuum.”

The ghost drifted a few inches off the ground, now standing upright, circling through different desks in a routine walking pattern. Gary turned to face Pete, folding his arms over his chest, and questioning with a playful tone, “What’s so hard to believe that I can be a good guy? So what if I’m not the _‘holding-babies-and-adopting-puppies’_ kind of guy? Doesn’t mean I’m bad.”

Well, not _inherently._

“That’s not- look,” Petey raised a hand defensively, signaling to Gary that he was on his side despite the accusation of not being a hero of some sort. “All I’m saying is that, objectively, from an outsider’s point of view, the last big event that happened in your life could be viewed as… villainous? I mean, like, you were on top of a roof with rain and thunder behind you while screaming about how superior you are to everyone.”

Pete tilted his chair back a few inches and used his hands on the desk to balance his weight from falling over. “That’s a pretty anti-hero thing to do, dude.”

Gary stopped his systematic pacing routine and turned his full attention to Pete, scowl developing after his blank face was waved away. What was Pete saying? That somebody like _Hopkins_ was the good guy? How? How could anyone in their right mind believe that an imbecile such as him could be even theoretically perceived as morally superior? Gary kept his arms crisscrossed and tracked up to the desk the boy had claimed for detention, Pete simply gazing up with the feeling that the conversation had just turned sickenly sour.

“..What?”

“The ‘what’, _Peter_ , is that you are implying that Jimmy Hopkins is, in comparison to me, a protagonist of moral standard. Is that true? Or am I simply misinterpreting your crystal clear stance on the matter?”

_Yeah, that was exactly what Pete was implying._

Hoisting his chair back into the standard position and digging into his left khaki pocket to fish out his black-gray Zune MP3, Peter shook his head and released a quiet breath of annoyance. He didn’t want to argue with Gary, especially not when he was already having to spend time in detention because of the ghost. Pete pressed the power button to the small device and glimpsed up at Gary, the entity not having moved from his position of dominance while towering over the student.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Gare,” the living kid breathed as he unhooked his large headphones from around his neck. “I know you aren’t a bad guy. Trust me, I know, you’re just, uh, _‘misunderstood.’_ It doesn’t matter. I don’t even talk to Jimmy anymore, so who cares?”

After scrolling through his downloaded music library, Pete placed his music on shuffle with the song, _“Thnks fr th Mmrs,”_ popping up first. Satisfied with the melody, he slipped his headphones over his ears and closed his eyes, effectively sinking out the spirit that followed him night and day.

Gary was going to be mad because he was being neglected, sure, but Peter needed a break and a means of escape every now-and-then. It was one thing to have a ghost following you, but when the entity was _Gary Smith_ of all people? Now that was just cruel. Before he lost himself completely in the music, he overheard Gary practically shouting to change the song.

_Oh, yeah. He can hear it too, can’t he?_

Gary lived in Pete’s body, somehow, someway, and could hear overly loud noises in his ghost brain. It was as if Gary was experiencing surround sound with the booming noise intake that Peter encountered. Out of respect for Gary’s burning _(unknown)_ hatred for Fall Out Boy, Pete skipped over the song and was content when Gary didn’t protest to the recent Paramore song that filled both of their ears.

He remembered the first time he discovered he was able to drown out Gary with loud music. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him beforehand, but it was a revelation that he was overly thankful to have learned. He thought back to the scene of when he attended his first, and hopefully last, concert at The Final Cut.

Admittedly, it wasn’t a place Pete would find himself hanging around in his spare time, but he was making one extremely specific exception for an old friend.

It had been over the summer when Pete braved the trip to the rough side of town, the wrong side of the tracks as he had come to know it. It wasn’t long after he had first been tethered to Gary, maybe only a month or so after the startling new lifestyle crashed headfirst into his normal routine. It was difficult adjusting to living with a ghost, especially when that ghost was the former school's _lunatic-turned-headboy-turned-criminally-insane._

_Why were there so many movies about hauntings but none about old friends coming to haunt you? Paramount would make a fortune._

Due to the new Gary Smith babysitting job Peter was stuck with, he had begun to avoid his friends; Or well, the few friends that he did have. The rare occasion where Pete would run into a buddy while walking to class was filled with abrupt awkwardness _(even more so than usual)_ that would lead to him scampering away in fear of his secret, of _Gary_ , being exposed. It was a lonely road to walk despite the fact he was never actually alone. It was a special Hell carved out for Petey. With love.

Pete could still recall first entering The Final Cut at around midnight one summer evening; The music coming from inside the store/stage was blaring from a block away, Pete’s stomach fluttering with butterflies at the thought of stepping foot into such a raging party.

“Explain to me again why we’re risking stepping on used needles and broken glass just to watch some junkies perform covers that were written by _other_ junkies?”

Pete bit his lip as the ghost beside him floated a few inches from the ground, questioning their decision to make an appearance at a party that they were, with no doubt, not actually invited to. Peter didn’t have a good answer.

Jimmy had invited them _(well, Pete)_ in passing one day before class. Hopkins was busy being dragged into a nearby bathroom stall by the prince of the Preps himself, Gord Vendome, when Pete had come out of the stall next to them. Jim had perked up, flashing his dumb, toothy smile and exclaiming that although he was currently (and about to be) _"busy,"_ Zoe and Duncan were hosting a show down by the tracks and he would love for Pete to come for the opportunity of having some fun and catching up together.

After a rough time and date were tossed around to a rather confused Pete who was washing his hands, Peter watched as Gord literally shoved Jimmy into the stall. With that, the haunted boy elected to make a prompt exit when he saw the Prep drop to his knees.

Hopefully he just, uh, _dropped something._

As he neared the store, Pete realized he didn’t know whether Jimmy was being friendly after not seeing Pete for a few weeks, or if he had just been tasked with promoting the up and coming band. Either way, it wouldn’t kill Peter to at least check out the concert. _Despite what his anxiety was telling him._

Hand reaching out to grip the doorknob to the front entrance, Pete shifted his body to face the ghost next to him with his fingers still tightly clutching the entry. “Okay, here’s the thing,” Pete explained with a dry mouth while the music proceeded to scream from inside. “Neither of us want to be here, right? We want to go home, but people are getting suspicious of us. I’m a loner, but it’s been, like, two months since I’ve hung out with anyone. Can you just, um, try and be on good behavior? Please?”

 _What?_ Gary was always as good as gold! In fact, the entity was slightly offended at the remarks!

“Petey, really? Have I ever, _in my entire life,_ been anything other than a saint? I’m an _angel_ after all. That should tell you something.”

Pete let out a small groan as he turned back towards the door, no longer eyeing the ghost who folded his arms defiantly while hovering. “You’re not an _angel_ , Gary. You’re a ghost, or a demon, or literally anything other than an angel. Or maybe I’m in limbo and you’re my own subconscious torturing me. Either way, angel isn’t high on my list of descriptors. Just- try and be good? _Please_ , Gary? Enjoy the music?”

He wasn’t hopeful of Gary being anything other than tortuous, but a tiny flash of possibility in his chest came when Gary muttered, softly to himself, _“We’ll see.”_

When the pair of boys entered the shop, their ears were immediately assaulted by the loud booming of the band that exploded on stage. The overhead lights of the alternative store were turned off, the only illumination being the flickering strobe machine and disco ball of various colors that provided a messy, unrestrained underground feel to the packed building. Pete walked in gradually, the door slamming behind him as he stood near the entrance with wide eyes at the scene before him. A bored shopkeeper stood behind the counter flipping through an explicit looking magazine, random kids scattered throughout different corners where they smoked and spoke in private, and one large crowd that gathered around a stage that Pete couldn’t see the floor of. He did see, however, three people strumming out lively melodies of a Green Day song that he wasn’t accustomed to.

The three people on stage were familiar in descending order. There was Zoe, Jimmy’s ex. Tall, faulty attitude, and scarcely dressed; She had the perfect image of a rockstar as she strummed low notes on her bright blue bass guitar. To her right was _another_ of Jimmy’s exes, Pete thought. He had tattoos scattered across his bare arms, short brown hair that was shaved with some strands of hair curling upwards into a faux mohawk. He carried a beaming red electric guitar that he allowed to dangle from the strap around his neck, smile wide and cunning as he played for the roaring mob. In the back was someone that Peter didn't recognize at all. Another Townie, no doubt, but not a student he knew. A slightly older resembling adult with a beard and scowl to his character. Unmistakably not someone Pete wanted to mess with.

Peter stood in the doorway, his feet not craving to move further into the radiating vocals and stomping of the crowd. He had, admittedly, never been to a concert before. There weren’t many people outside of their town that had ever even _heard_ of Bullworth, so of course, they weren’t a hotspot for bands to come by when touring. It made him nervous overlooking the sea of people despite his enjoyment of the alternative music that was being created right in front of him.

Swaying his head after doing a scan of the crowd, not perceiving any trace of Jimmy Hopkins, Pete decided to push past some kids while muttering a “sorry” here and there as he made his way to the bathroom. There were an immeasurable amount of kids his age that he had never seen before, suspecting that they either lived in the next town over, or were dropouts that resided in the dark alleys of Bullworth. On his way to the bathroom, Peter passed a boy that was wearing a dark blue hoodie, shaved head, and glasses that reflected the bright screen of his flip phone while he texted someone who wasn’t at the party. He seemed to be anticipating someone, though his face wasn’t familiar to Pete in the slightest.

_Who were these people?_

Peter entered the boy's bathroom with a harsh push of the door that exhibited scribbles of graffiti, stopping dead in his tracks when he was met with a…woman _(?)_ who was applying on a thick layer of red lipgloss, piercing eyes that were accentuated with bright eyeshadow and sharp eyeliner pointing down and glaring at Pete in the mirror the second he walked in.

_Oh. Was this a crossdresser?_

The, um, woman noisily popped the cap of her lip gloss back on and turned to leave with a stiff scoff, pink dress flowing away from her body as her black heels clicked in an overly boisterous manner on the floor. “There are two lesbians making out in the girl's bathroom and I didn't want to be rude. Don’t act like you’ve never seen a lady before, _junior_.”

Yup. That was for sure a voice that was an entire octave lower than Peter’s.

She pushed past Peter with attitude, shoulder checking him while she left with Gary smiling unnaturally wide at the woman’s response. “Oh, my…Pete. You should totally get his number, I think he likes you!”

The student didn’t warrant the ghost an acknowledgment, instead moving deeper into the bathroom in order to observe himself in the mirror. He looked out of place for the only store in Bullworth that claimed the fashion alternative scene; Pink button-up that he wore underneath of his clothes neat and pressed, black dress pants that he had fished out of the bottom of his closet, worn white sneakers with soles that were starting to come apart quickly.

An absolutely awkward trainwreck.

 _Speaking of trainwrecks-_ Gary floated next to Pete, but only by an inch or so off the ground. He was used to hovering, although the novelty of it had far been worn out by now. It was no longer fun, and the enjoyment of flying was short-lived. Peter surveyed the two of them in the mirror, watching Gary’s reflection as the once alive student read over various pieces of graffiti that took up the entire bathroom.

“Huh,” Gary muttered. “Not surprised that these idiots can’t even spell, ‘anarchy,’ correctly.”

Pete stopped staring at the entity, turning his body to enter the closest presumably empty stall. “To be fair, Galloway was probably drunk during their English classes. He-”

Peter opened the unlocked green painted stall and was met with…Jimmy? _Gord?_

The two boys were tangled together with their mouths pressed open and firm, hot tongues molded together. Jimmy had Gord half hoisted into his lap, pressing the Prep against the dirty bathroom wall with pants that were dubiously unbuckled and unbuttoned. Though, _thankfully_ , no additional _parts_ were out. Gord let out a sudden yell of exclamation at the dumbfounded face of Peter, pushing Jimmy by the shoulders away even though the freckled face student still held Gord off of the ground. Gord kicked his feet that were wrapped around Jimmy’s hips, barking with cheeks shaded pink, “You said you locked the door, Hopkins! Ah! The _scandal_!”

Gord then, dramatically, and remarkably softly, pressed his hand to Jimmy’s cheek to simulate a slap the best he could. Jimmy didn’t flinch in the sparsest, amused smile beaming at his boyfriend’s outrageously overdramatic behavior.

_Christ, he really loved Gord._

“I thought I did,” Jimmy defended with an indifferent shrug, extinguishing a laugh as Gord fumbled with rebuttoning his light blue Aquaberry summer shorts. “Besides, it’s just Pete.”

Jimmy turned his head to get a decent look at Pete, hands still holding the ass of Gord while he kept his boyfriend’s legs across his body. “Glad you made it! I didn’t think you remembered, honestly. It’s nice to see you out-and-about for a change.”

_Was it worth it, though? Was seeing Jimmy Hopkins and Gord Vendome swap spit really worth the possibility of social interaction? The answer: no._

“Yeah, um, I just got here, you know, and thought I-I would just take a minute to get used to all of the kids. There’s gotta be, like, a hundred people out there.”

Gary floated into view, face sick with nausea at having walked in on Jimmy making out with one of his eight dozen whores. “Can ghosts throw up? I’m seriously about to hurl my ectoplasm. That was _painful_. I feel- I-I don’t even _know_ what I feel, Peter. I’m out. That’s it. I’m gonna go check out the lesbians next door. Good luck.”

The entity left to view the ladies in the next bathroom over, to Pete’s disliking. Spying was wrong. Even though he had just accidentally spied on a _different_ gay couple. He was a hypocrite. Kinda.

Jimmy let Gord down with ease, the Prep buttoning up his pressed light purple sleeved shirt to hide the hickeys that covered his neck, coughing a few times as he pretended that he wasn’t hiding the fact that he looked like a cheetah. “There always is a big turnout for Riot of the Black Torch. People love seeing Duncan, Zoe, and Gurney preform. Even Gord, though he won’t admit it.”

Gord shook his head when his name was brought up, instantly refuting the statement with a disapproving face. “No, James, I’ve told you time and time again. I like seeing you have a good time and we always manage to make our way to somewhere more _intimate_ , which then means that _I_ get to have a good time.”

Jimmy returned his eyes to his boyfriend, a smug smile across his lips with a tilt of his shaved head. “Oh, yeah? You like alone time with me? Why’s that?”

Pretending, or simply forgetting, that Pete was standing right there, Jimmy let out a fake snarl and proceeded to attack Gord’s neck with an onslaught of kisses and playful bites. Gord screamed out a yell in which he begged for mercy, though his lying plea was being followed by his contradictory hands that pulled James in closer.

Peter left quickly, the moans of Gord from an open bathroom stall, not something he wanted to experience _ever_ in his life.

Once he was away from the restroom, the student took a studying glimpse at the immense amount of people in the building, most of whom Pete had never seen before. Different alternative outfitted teenagers smoked rolled cigarettes _(hopefully they were cigarettes)_ , others strayed away from the crowd and hid amongst their friend groups while chatting respectfully. One pale boy, in particular, stood near the left of the makeshift stage, skillfully air drumming a solo that was reciprocated by the actual drummer on stage, various bandages and band-aids dotting his face.

Peter took in a steady breath and began hyping himself up once he was satisfied that he, in fact, didn't know a single soul in the sea of kids.

_He can do this! It’s just a concert. Nobody will be focusing on Pete, anyway. Standing in the back all alone like a loser the whole night is even worse than not showing up at all._

Somehow, someway, his feet began walking. It was a miracle.

Pete moved in between the gaps of the crowd, head low as he tried to avoid flying elbows and crashing feet that accompanied booming cries as the band finished their set. Duncan was first up on the stage to speak, standing in front of his microphone on the left of the platform with a healthy smile despite the sweat that trickled from his forehead. The spotlights on the trio must’ve been burning into them. Peter knew how it felt to be burnt alive, _unfortunately_. He felt sympathy.

“Awesome! Thank you guys for the wicked turnout tonight! As we start to wind down for the night-”

The collective noise of disappointing groans and hollers of distressed voices drenched the room. Duncan laughed a little, Zoe smirking as she fiddled with cleaning a smudge off the face of her bass guitar.

“Now, now, come on,” Duncan reassured with love for his fans. “We had fun, didn’t we? This isn’t the last time Riot of the Black Torch will grace the stage! We’ll keep coming back for more! You guys seem a little extra hungry tonight, though. We aren’t going to leave you starving, I promise.”

Duncan dramatically turned to Zoe, her smile growing wider by the second at the introduction to their final act. “How about a little treat, Zoe? Since they’ve been so good?”

The redheaded girl adjusted her crop top turned tube top, smiling wickedly at the random outburst of yells from the crowd. She ran her right hand slowly up the bass guitar, drinking in her status of popularity with an apathetic shrug of her shoulders. “Mm, I don’t know, D. Have they behaved? What do you guys think?”

She posed the question to the crowd who, in turn, went _bananas_.

Cheers turned to damn near _sobs_ as the masses pleaded for one final song, the tension of the people around Peter growing stronger with a non-verbalized realization of what the band was going to play next. Pete could feel the energy radiating off of the crowd, glancing at the sides of him to get a look at the desperate faces. Pete was half nudged by a messy-haired boy to the right of him who wore a heavy pink leather jacket with pins coating the front, each one saying a different phrase or profanity. The teenager next to him gave a swift apology, grinning wide as Duncan continued to hype the group from a few feet in front of the pair.

“What, uh,” Pete half-shouted over the adoring crowd, “what are they doing? An encore?”

The shaggy brown-haired kid chuckled, crossing his arms comfortably and making it clear that this was far from his first show. “They’re gonna perform, _‘The Cult of Dionysus,’_ in a minute. It’s kinda, like, their cover song. Everyone goes _crazy_ for it.”

Pete nodded nonchalantly as he peered back up to the stage after offering a tiny, mumbled thank you. He watched as Gary floated onto the stage, becoming nearly invisible in the harsh spotlights that shined right through him. _He must've grown tired from watching the lesbians makeout?_ Duncan proceeded to chatter with the crowd, putting on a rehearsed performance of banter between him and the other bandmates that sparked a few laughs here and there from the teenage fans. Gary waved at Peter from the face of the scaffold, floating around Zoe with a sly smile trickling his lips. “Hey, Pete,” he shouted over the loud voices. “I bet I can get her guitar out of tune while she performs. Wanna bet?”

As Pete opened his mouth to scold Gary, an action he had been close relative to, when the sound of wooden drumsticks counting off a three-second beat reverberated through the facility, followed soon after Duncan singing, _“Yesterday I heard-”_

Peter assumed the man on stage continued singing, observing his lips continuing to move, but wasn’t certain due to the rush of cheerful screams that pierced his ears and canceled out the lyrics. Pete peeped over to the boy that he had briefly talked to, the teenager now clapping his hands and joining in on the ferocious hollers of positivity. The overflow of noise was starting to crawl on Petey’s skin, head beginning to throb nearly in time with the beat that played on the stage. Deciding to opt-out of the shrieking crowd, Pete turned on his heel to mingle through the mob in order to get freedom, but was stopped by a natural face and a hand that had been only a moment away from tapping him to gain attention. “Hey, Pete,” Jimmy said with a welcoming smile, the less-familiar face of Gord alongside Pete’s friend. _Former friend?_

“Hey, Jimmy. Gord.”

Gord only flicked his right hand up in a wave, arm wrapped firmly around the back of Jimmy’s neck while his left hand snaked absentmindedly up the front chest of Hopkins' loose black hoodie. Even when surrounded by a crowd of people who were far from his social circle Gord continued to make it alarmingly apparent that James was not on the market, to the chagrin of many. It didn’t seem to bother Jimmy, though. Pete was sure it would bother him if they had switched roles.

“How are you liking the concert? I know you came late, but this is their best song.”

Pete nodded and leaned back briefly to view the singing duo on stage that took turns exchanging lyrics, lost in their ritual of performance. Peter shifted back to his friend, pouting his lips for a moment in agreement with a short nod of support. “Yeah,” he answered fully over the deafening speakers. “They aren’t bad, not at all. Not really, um, my style, but I definitely see the appeal.”

At this, Gord inserted himself into the conversation while resting his palm flat across Jimmy’s heart in a protective manner. “Mine either,” he drawled with his usual tone of snob. “I think their outfits are even worse than their song choices- and that’s saying a lot. You simply must come to the Glass Jaw sometime and watch James here ruffle some men up if concerts aren’t your thing. He’s simply… _enticing_ in the ring.”

Okay, barf.

The student held back a cringe despite the threat of emotion struggling to reach the surface. Pete didn’t care to hear about how Gord got hot in the khakis when watching Jimmy beat the shit out of Preppies. Peter cleared his throat uncomfortably when the two boys gazed at each other silently and longingly.

“Uh, yeah,” Pete replied in an attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere. “How often do they host concerts? Every Friday night?”

Jimmy nodded, eyes glimpsing up to take a survey at the stage of people who played out their most popular hit. “Yeah. Tickets are free, usually, unless they are performing a new set list. They get a decent amount of money from shirts and shit they sell on a table by the door. They’ve also talked about performing in Liberty City about an hour north of here, but that’s just rumors, I think.”

Peter saw Jimmy’s gaze fall onto the stage, swinging his own attention to observe what the student was staring at. Pete’s blood ran cold, however, viewing the squint of Jimmy's land on what was supposed to be empty air to the average eye. Instead, his gaze was trained on the ghost of Gary Smith.

The entity wasn’t in the least bit interested in hearing the conversation between the three Bullworth academics, instead occupying his time by floating half off stage and taking in the scenery of a collection of worthless dropouts who strived to be unique with their whacky ugly fashion and names that mimicked that of random words and phrases. It was times like these that Gary could confidently say that he was glad he was _deceased_ and not being forced to live among the rats of the small town.

The ghost noticed it too, though, eventually.

It was first Petey’s stupid expression of shock that he recognized from the platform, eyebrows drawing near as he tipped his head in confusion. “What?”

It would’ve been remarkably funny for Gary to take a mental image of poor little Petey who had the color from his face completely drained, if his thought process hadn’t been interrupted by two unforgiving eyes that glared at him. In true Smith fashion, the ghost shifted his body and reciprocated the hardened look with an even meaner expression.

Wait. Did Hopkins _actually_ see him?

Pete watched the two stare at each other, unmoving. He found his voice somewhere in his stomach, words hurriedly rushing out in desperation, “D-Do you see him? You see him, right?”

It was strange, odd in a way that was difficult to describe. The surge of varying emotions that came with watching Jimmy possibly uncover his most prominent secret made his mouth dry, palms sweaty, and heart rate _erratic_.

He hadn’t yet found another person, animal, or germ that took notice of Gary’s existence. It had seemed before that it was just Peter that was doomed to carry this burden, this curse all by himself without anyone to share the misery with. Could it be that this whole time he was avoiding Jimmy, the one person who also shared the viewing of Gary?

Jimmy’s appearance turned perplexed, focus now back on Pete while Gord eyed in suspicion. “See who? I was reading the sign on the wall. I forgot my contacts.”

_Of-fucking-course._

Gord shrugged off of Jimmy a second later, kissing his cheek with loving warmth in his eyes that expressed a fondness for the freckled boy that couldn’t be matched. “Well, this was fun and all, but I’m going to go talk to the woman at the counter about getting some education in basic fashion. Their inventory is _dreadful_ and I’d be a bystander to a _hate crime_ if I didn’t say anything.”

Jimmy snickered softly, eyes bright with joy as he did a once-over of his lover. “Uh, Gord, that’s not what a hate crime is. I think.”

The Prep scoffed as he unlatched himself entirely from Jimmy, shuffling away to the opposite view of Jimmy while waving a hand dramatically in the air as he departed. “Well, _I_ hate it. Ta-ta.”

Gord vanished into the crowd, but not before Jimmy gave the boy a teasing slap on the ass that caused Gord to gasp in sudden embarrassment, scurrying away from the dense collection of people.

“So,” Jimmy wrapped a loose arm around the shoulder of Pete and guided the pair through the sea of people until they were on the right of the stage, out of the beaming spotlight’s touch. “Haven’t seen you around much, Pete. What gives? I thought that after everything we’ve been through that you wouldn’t just disappear on me.”

Yeah, that was true. _Kinda._ Jimmy had the gift of being rid of Gary permanently after the prior year the two had spent fighting his reign of terror. Petey, on the other hand, had a whole new storm to deal with that he was _not_ equipped for.

The weight of Jimmy’s arm on him made Pete nervous, even though they were close friends at some point. He couldn’t pinpoint if it was because of the contact or the fact that it was the famed Jimmy Hopkins who was touching him, but either way, it knotted his stomach with dread. “Well, you know how it is. I’ve, uh, been a little busy is all. Studying for next year.”

_Was that a believable lie?_

“Hm. That’s funny because last I checked, according to Beatrice, you’ve been taking long walks around the docks and sulking around talking to yourself. Seriously, is somethin’ going on with you, man? Are you in trouble?”

The last question caused Jimmy to force Peter to look at him, arm around his neck starting to simulate a chokehold or noose with the dare of provoking Petey to lie. Okay, now the knot in his stomach was definitely becoming an ulcer. “No, dude, nothing like that,” Pete tried to say with a position of denial. “I just have a lot on my mind lately. I-I’m going through, like, a second… puberty?”

Oh, my god. That was the best lie he could come up with?

_Wasn’t that a transgender term he heard on the television?!_

Jimmy stared in confusion, eyebrows pressed together with his mouth barely agape as the hamster in his head desperately tried to spin the wheel for clarity. “N-No,” Peter hurriedly blurted out, nervous laugh coming from his throat. “That- I was joking because I’m so small and weak, you know? Oh, funny- a little joke. I’m a boy. Just a boy, nothing more.”

_Smooth._

As if on queue Gary materialized around them from out of the depths of Peter's mind, eyebrow cocked with a smile full across his face as he caught the ass end of the conversation. He took in Jimmy’s moronic expression that he favored often, Gary sucking on his teeth with a click as a laugh took place afterward. “What are you saying, Pete? Did that guy coming out of the bathroom give you a new perspective?”

Pete disregarded Gary, a skill that he had virtually perfected by this point. It was hard to make out what the ghost was saying, anyhow, the band continuing to play. Jimmy let loose a sigh from his lips and removed his arm off of Pete, eyeing the boy suspiciously with the positive feeling that there was something that the smaller wasn’t telling him. Absolutely, they had been apart for a month or so now, but had they really drifted apart from each other so quickly? Had Jimmy done something wrong that would warrant Peter actively avoiding him and not answer when he knocked on his dorm door?

“Fine,” Jimmy said with definity. “I want you to know that you can always come to me though. Whatever trouble you’re having I got your back, okay? Don’t think I forgot all you did for me with Gary.”

The ghost floating by grinned at the empty words of Hopkins, a promise of aid that Gary was sure he wouldn’t be able to sustain. How could Jimmy assist in any way? Even if Peter had come to him with a small problem such as homework or a spider in his dorm, Jimmy’s solution to every hindrance was to rut and fuck his way through it. What would Jimmy say if he found out that his rival was inhabiting the mind and body of his _(former?)_ best friend?

Ah, the entire situation was delicious.

Petey nodded in response, sensing Jimmy’s heavy hand patting his back in affirmation before he dismissed himself from Pete and pulled out his flip-phone to send a text. Peter decided he wanted some space from the conversation, to drink in some cigarette fumes rather than dense air of the discussion that lingered behind him. Walking forward a few feet, he observed the band that was beginning to finish their final song for the night. Their prolonged beats rattled out during a slowed down part of the chorus, Zoe and Duncan mimicking each other as they sang, _“that’s sad!”_

Pete stared at the bodies that moved along the scaffolding, his mind wandering off into a question he asked often.

_Is this what it was like to be a teenager?_

Peter took a deep inhale as he watched from the sidelines, familiar with observing an activity rather than being apart of it. _He was here though, wasn’t he?_ He was, objectively, apart of the crowd. It never seemed to feel that way, though. Even if he was standing front row once more with the screaming voices of adoring fans, he never felt as if he _should_ be standing there. It was strong isolation despite being in the dead center of a social gathering. It was a pity for not only himself but at the lost potential of friends he wished he dared to make. Now more than ever Pete felt as if he needed a companion to confide in, Gary _(who was somewhere unknown)_ being a heavy burden to carry by himself.

_Why doesn’t he just tell Jimmy? He’s right behind Pete!_

It wasn’t that easy, though, was it? No, of course not. Ignoring the strong likelihood of Jimmy simply not believing him, it would cause every party involved nothing but trouble. Jimmy would, most likely, only want to argue with Gary and vice versa. That would mean that Peter would become a talking piece of constant bickering since Gary is unable to react with barely anything in the physical world. Pete would become an overused ventriloquist dummy that-

An unforgivingly severe shove flew Peter a few steps forward in front of him, knocking into some stairs before flatly landing damn near face-first on the stage of performers. A small echo of laughter burlesqued out from the crowd as Zoe giggled in confusion, Duncan ceasing his strumming momentarily to walk to the fallen down boy.

“Jesus, kid, you alright? Damn. If you wanted to meet us, we stick around after the shows! This, um, isn't what stage-diving means.”

Peter lifted his head from the solid platform, complexity across his face as he took in the new setting. Duncan’s concerned expression stared back at him, electric guitar in his left fist while his other hand offered assistance in helping Pete up. The student took Duncan’s hand, knees shaking at the sudden impact and reality that everyone in the crowd was now staring at him.

A few whoops and cheers were heard once he rose, Zoe and Gurney continuing to prolonge the musical number until their lead guitarist could return back to his place in front of the spotlights.

Immediately Pete turned to leave the stage, rush off where he could hide far away, but he was caught by the strong hand of Duncan on his shoulder before he could exit. “Oh, I don’t think so! Get on up here!”

He guided Pete, despite his legs and hands trembling, across the side of the scaffold and punctually in front of the crowd. Duncan took to the mic, a smile never fading as he returned to pick up his own melodies in perfect time with the rest of his crew. “We seem to have a superfan in the mix tonight,” he called out into the microphone without any issue of Pete standing next to him. “Nearly fuckin’ cracked his skull to get up here! What’s your name, kid?”

_Jesus H. Christ. This wasn’t happening._

“Pete. M-My n-”

The quivering boy was interrupted by Duncan taking command of the mic again, leaning in as he played the tune as if it was second-nature to him. “Ah! Pete! Not the name I would’ve picked for you, but not bad, not bad. What do you say, Pete,” the singer shifted his study to the boy next to him, moving an inch away from the microphone. “How about we bring this home?”

Confidence bleeds from Duncan as if surviving in front of a hundred raging teenagers was a common affair. It was inspiring to Pete, but not at that particular moment. It was hard to see any faces clearly from the light that burned into them (as Pete has previously correctly guessed). There was one face, though, that he couldn’t escape from even if he wanted to. Turning his head slowly to the left as he scanned the faces of the people in the crowd, he found the entity grinning wide with eyes filled with delight at seeing Peter embarrassed on stage. It was the perpetrator that had shoved him.

_Gary._

Throat bonedry, he stopped mimicking a deer staring down at the impending headlights and gave a short nod. He summoned some false courage somewhere within him, though he was positive that every soul in the masses could see right through it. “H-Hell yeah… ?”

The crowd _roared._

Duncan turned his eyes to Zoe, laughing at the words of the small schoolboy next to him that was shaking like a leaf. “What about you, D,” Zoe questioned with a teasing tone that elicited a few “oooo”s from the crowd. “Are _you_ ready? Or should we slow down so you can catch up?”

The singer laughed yet harder at this, rumors and random shouts from the crowd directed at their favorite bandmate provoking him to get back into the zone of putting on the concert. He didn’t respond with a statement, instead singing the next line in absolute sync with the musical number. _“I’m feeling devious!”_

Zoe winked flirtatiously at Pete, singing with a pointed tone, _“You’re lookin’ glamorous!”_

Oh, was he blushing like a little schoolgirl, or was that the burning rays of the lights seeping into his skin and frying him alive? The two singers got closer together, enclosing Pete into a tight sandwich while playing out the finishing tunes of the chorus that the crowd couldn’t seem to get enough of. They sang in unison into their mics.

_“Let’s get mischievous- and polyamorous!”_

Duncan pressed a thick, full kiss to the right cheek of Peter, smacking his lips away once he pulled off. The crowd screeched at the random show of affection, the girls feeling faint at the sudden homosexual scene before them that they craved when falling for teen idols. Peter now knew that when he assessed himself early as blushing that he hadn’t even begun to understand what that word meant until he was kissed on stage.

In front of a hundred peers.

By a man.

_“Wine and women and wonderful vices! Welcome to the cult of-”_

The crowd finished the lyric for the band, the singers both easing off of the microphones as the fans screeched the final word as if it was the last thing they would ever say before their breaths would be taken away forever.

_“DIONYSUS!”_

Peter snapped open his eyes when he felt a harsh tap come from his right shoulder, blinking twice before turning his attention to whoever had pushed him.

It was Slawter?

Oh, right.

_Detention._

The student removed his headphones that blared a now distant _'Wham!'_ song that he had previously long forgotten about. He peered up at the teacher who, elegantly, tossed Peter’s science unit exam on the tabletop in front of him. “You passed. Congrats. You only missed one. You should be proud of yourself.”

The teacher turned and stepped away from Peter’s usual spot in the back of the classroom, eyes facing forward as he whistled out a tune while he stalked to his large desk at the front that was riddled with various papers and old coffee mugs. Pete frowned as he sat up from his slouched position in his chair, pushing back the memory of the concert that faded in the back of his mind.

“I missed one? Which one? Wait, don’t tell me,” Pete sighed as he flipped open the packet and began searching for the question that he had been teased by Gary about previously. “It was the one about the spaceman on Mars, right? I knew it was solar rays. I don-”

The professor sat down as his desk with curiosity, shuffling around a few quizzes from other students that he had yet to visit with about their results. “No, you got that one,” the teacher explained, Pete pausing the lookover of the quiz. “You missed the one about paranormal activity. I always ask a question during the quizzes that are in reference to the next unit of study. There is fact and fiction. You, er, choose the latter.”

No fucking way. _Really?_

Pete turned his test over a few pages until he found one of the last questions he had answered before Gary had taken it upon himself to force Petey to squeal in pain during class. And, speaking of the almost literal devil, Gary hovered to the left of Pete, glancing over his shoulder when they both came across the question that Petey had missed.

Are ghosts real?  
A) Yes  
B) No  
C) Maybe  
D) I don’t believe in ghosts

Slawter took a drink from a mug that was, maybe, extremely, for sure very old coffee. He made a sour face but pulled the week-old liquid closer to him for easier access. “You almost had it too, Peter,” he confirmed while he busied his hands with sorting out quizzes from the students who _(allegedly)_ snuck him a bribe so he would pass them. “You had first circled ‘no’ and then scribbled it out. Then you put ‘yes’. Too bad. Still, it’s a fantastic score."

Pete’s hands trembled with the test in his hands. He crumpled the paper’s edges as his hands quivered, Gary watching him with curiosity as he floated by in a routine circle manner. His eyes stung with the threatening of tears, cheeks growing hot with a shade of blush that complimented his mixed skin well.

Peter rang out a loud laugh, dropping the paper and putting his hands over his stomach as he erupted into a fit of laughter that could be heard from the other side of the building.

Gary joined in, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: video-space
> 
> hoooo mama!!!! we did it!!! we made another chapter!!! somehow!!! someway!!! we did it!
> 
> thank you to ALL of my friends who graciously donated me their wonderful OCs to borrow and stick into this fic as kids in the crowd. Each one of your OCs are babies and I took care of them well! Gave them lots of sugar and alcohol! all the good stuff yay!!!!
> 
> And, in terms of amazing news, I now have an official co-author! Roselyn (@deflatedorange) is my beta reader, plot buddy, and overall a great friend. We've spent countless hours talking about LP;FC and she makes sure my ass is writing it whether I like it or not. One final shoutout to the lovely Sam who drew fantastic art for upcoming scenes in LP;FC! You can find the artwork at the Tumblr link below and please make sure you give it a lot of love!!!!!!! 
> 
> thanks for reading and please leave a comment!!! They keep the lights on in my heart and influence how quickly I produce chapters!!!  
> https://video-space.tumblr.com/post/624089015319150592
> 
> [hi im roselyn, i edited the chapter but i'm just here to say that the lesbians making out are my ocs LMAOO
> 
> They Are Sapphics and I Love Them So Much so thank u cohen for including them even if there wasn't a physical description or anything uwu
> 
> but yes yes i hope you enjoyed the chapter!! cohen did a great job at writing it :)) <333]


	3. Ocean Aquaberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was beautiful, tragic, and disturbing. It ate at Peter’s skin with how perfectly it worked."

“Is this considered spying?” Pete questioned while sitting with his feet half dangling off the side of the Greaser’s garage. It definitely _felt_ like spying, whether it actually was or wasn't. He was peering down at the various passing students below, taking in the combination of cliques mixing across the main courtyard. From where they were stationed, Petey had a good view of the Prep territory as well as a decent display of the Jocks. It felt wrong to have traveled up the ladder of the garage with the sole purpose of observing the unsuspecting students below, though Pete did have to admit that it was a little bit fun. 

Gary floated nearby, not bothering to be careful around the ledges like Pete was. “Don’t think of it as spying on people and their private affairs. Think of it as ‘people watching,’ if that’s what’ll get you to lighten up.”

_Oh, so there was a specific term for the degree of spying they were doing?_

Petey bundled his zip-up dark gray hoodie closer to his chest as he prayed the warmth of the layers would keep him at an adequate temperature. The air was starting to turn slightly chilly and crisp as they progressed through the school year, Halloween approaching in only a few weeks time. It seemed like only yesterday that they were first granted face to face, the deceased and the living. Time had flown by, though maybe that was for the better.

Pete would hate to imagine every single day of his new life with Gary dragging on for eternity, though he got the feeling that’s exactly how Gary felt being tethered to Peter.

Not even a single hour had passed since the two boys had originally been sitting in the library, Peter’s nose buried in his textbook as he studied for an upcoming Geography quiz. To the absolute horror of Gary, they had been returning to the studying facility every day for nearly _two weeks_ now. Lingering beside a dude who reads nothing but geographical locations was a nightmare, especially since Gary can’t even go far enough to look at anything actually worth viewing.

Gary was, to his own bitterness, incredibly weak. He was unable to interact with hardly anything in the physical world, his power being little to nothing. When exerting all the strength he could muster up, Gary was able to push a pencil an inch at the very most. He couldn’t even pick up _fabric_ without it completely altering to become a damn ghost manifestation. 

Though, it wasn’t _too_ terrible; Gary loved threatening to wear all of Pete’s clothes, leaving the boy with no access to a fresh shirt.

But yes, the library was the worst place to be when you were a troubled spirit cursed to spend your afterlife roaming the Earth. Sure, Gary was able to turn a page of a book, but only if his forced efforts were followed by a period of an hour-long break to try and recoup the energy he lost. This was often discouraged heavily by Petey, however; Every cell of energy that was spent by Gary was taken directly from Pete’s storehouse. If the ghost suddenly were to use all of his might to lift an object off the ground, it could result in Peter _passing out_ from the sudden depletion of energy leaving his body.

It was difficult keeping the entity entertained on _good_ days, which meant Pete had to juggle grueling hours of studying for the most boring class in school and making sure Gary didn’t try to cause chaos with what little power he had.

Pete watched the waves of kids pass by the statue in the square of Bullworth, the intersection where the three surrounding cliques met until they broke off to their respective corners. In all of his years at the school, he wasn’t sure he had ever sat down and truly _observed_ the students. The intersection of the statue monument was dotted with every clique, including the new freshmen who all appeared to be respectfully declining being recruited for one of the five main groups. There were spitballs and insults thrown every few minutes, but for the most part, the students were glued to their peers and didn’t bother to stray from their territories. Not even the girls bothered to mingle with each other, too busy tending to their flawed appearances.

Pete moved his eyes off the unsuspecting kids, glancing up to view Gary standing tall next to him. He was translucent in the sun, an occasional glimpse of shimmering rays poking out beyond the looming overcast above them. Despite all of the bullshit, all of the confusion, Gary was somehow still _Gary_ in a way that Peter wasn’t sure he would ever experience again. He was the version of himself he had been on medication, high off a mood stabilizer rather than a gnawing desire for power. 

It was a nice change, Pete thought, from the way he had seen the boy before he passed away. Before he was taken away.

“I see why you like it up here,” Pete spoke with sincerity, eyes shifting away from Gary to watch the students pretend to not notice the rival clique next to them. “I don’t think I’ve ever really gone out of my way to ‘people watch.’ I only did it if I was waiting for someone or happened to be in a busy public spot.”

Gary nodded slowly, eyes never wavering from the children in the courtyard. It was fascinating to him, watching the kids below. It was as if he was getting a personal live viewing of an African Safari, observing the savage wildlife creatures that consisted of lions and gazelles, predator and prey. It was easy to pick out who fell into which category, though oftentimes it didn’t matter; Gary had seen the rare occasion where the prey stood up and decided to no longer fall victim to the cruel food chain, though admittedly his first example that came to mind was a sour one. 

Jimmy Hopkins.

“Did you do this a lot, um, _before?”_

Gary pondered the question for longer than he cared to admit, the process of recalling memories from when he was alive taking more time each day that passed. It was an activity that he genuinely enjoyed, though that was mainly due to the fact that he often brought a slingshot that was used to test his aim with paint-filled water balloons. There were some moments, however, that he merely enjoyed the calm, melancholy air without feeling the need to cause chaos. 

“Sure did,” Gary answered confidently when the many memories of the activity returned to him. “All the time. You remember that rumor about the guy that lived up by the Bell Towers? The homeless guy?”

Peter nodded, squinting through the warm sun that had returned once more as he looked up to watch Gary speak. He did remember the rumor, the hushed whisper about _another_ homeless man living on campus that lived atop of the school’s roof. It was an impractical rumor, especially when considering the man would constantly be exposed to the elements, but it was still one that circled the halls a year or two ago.

Gary smirked at Pete, shrugging his shoulders before folding his arms confidently in the scandal that surrounded him. “Yeah, that was all me.”

The smaller boy nodded, before scrunching his eyebrows in confusion a second later.

“Wait,” Pete broke with an intrigued question. “You _started_ the rumor or you _were_ the rumor?”

“A little this, a little that,” Gary replied with an ominous answer, as per the usual, one that left Pete with more questions than anything. Gary chuckled as he sat down next to Peter, shifting his ghostly frame to plant firmly on the slim lip of the rooftop that was coated in gravel dust. 

It hadn’t ever occurred to Pete that Gary was off somewhere on campus during those long months he had been planning for Jimmy’s demise; It was clear that Gary wasn’t in their shared dorm room, but it had never prompted Pete to look deeper into his whereabouts. The smaller of the duo didn't _want_ to find Gary during the breakdown of the school year, hiding himself to the best of his ability while occasionally conversing with Jimmy. 

It made complete sense, though, that Gary would spend most of his free time on top of the school where he would ultimately trap Jimmy into a final fight, a fight where the victor won the fame _and_ facility. It was completely in character for Gary to spend countless hours in the high air, observing the students he dreamed of leading to victory. 

It was all a great metaphor, Pete concluded.

Gary would climb to the top, rise above the school and the students, claiming the tallest champion where he stood amongst the rest in no comparison. And then, eventually, he would have to climb down from his position of power.

It was beautiful, tragic, and disturbing. It ate at Peter’s skin with how perfectly it worked.

“What would happen if I pushed you right here, right now, and you fell and snapped your neck?” Gary questioned with a low tone, eyes forward with the occasional flicker in Pete’s direction. It was a brash question, sudden and chilling as the hair on Pete’s neck stood up and his blood ran colder than ice water. The question was posed innocently, quietly as if it was a simple trivia that required an opinion of honesty. 

Before Pete could stumble out an answer, hands instinctively gripping the ledge tighter as anxious eyes stared at Gary in amazement at his calmness, the ghost spoke once more to alleviate the stress. 

“Easy,” Gary laughed, holding up a free hand and placing it on the shoulder of Petey while being careful that it didn’t slip through Pete’s body completely. “I’m not going to stage a suicide for you. I’m just wondering, what would happen to you? To me? Do you think I would fade away, or maybe we would both be ghosts, bound by soul, and tethered forever romantically! I bet you’d like that though, right?”

Peter went to push the hand on his shoulder off, though it was to no avail as his own hand passed right through the ghost that took up nothing but thin air. Scrunching his face together in a sickening cringe, Pete loosened his grip on the roof, but only barely. “Ew, shut up, Gary. Do you really think I want to be in limbo with you forever? No thanks, man.”

It was an interesting question though, wasn’t it? What _would_ happen if Pete decided (or was forced) to take his own life? What would await either of the boys on the other side?

Pete opened his mouth to speak on the enigma, but was interrupted by the sounds of heavy breathing from two sudden students that appeared on the half-wall of the Greaser clique’s territory. Two boys were making out furiously as if there was no tomorrow, tearing into each other between wet lips and frustrated grunts that only beckoned the other in closer. Pete’s eyes widened in unison with Gary’s smile when they got a decent view of the two boys that were entangled with one another, faces merging together as the school bell overhead rang out.

It was a Greaser, that was a given, with the two colliding in a near explicit display of affection in the territory of the jacket-wearing thugs. It was the other boy that brought the speechless Petey to stand from his place on the ledge, eyes glued to the duo that were kissing heavily. 

It was a... _Prep?_

It wasn’t until the Greaser, Vance, flipped the Prep to lay pressed against the brick wall and began trailing his hot mouth down his throat that Pete let out a gasp of realization at who it was.

Bryce? _Bryce Montrose?_

“Oh, my fucking god,” Pete mumbled, ears burning a pink hue at the animalistic exhibit before him. Thankfully both of the boys’ eyes were closed, unable to see Pete staring with a frazzled expression at the two that made quick work of gaining any access that they could. Gary was amused, giddy even; He was always sure that just about every male in Bullworth was to some degree a closet homosexual, but this? This took the cake. 

A Greaser and a Prep? Ha! What a pathetic inbred-oiled forbidden romance. 

Pete observed from his spot on top of the roof, unable to tear his eyes away from the boys that were blissfully unaware of the Peeping Tom(s). It was a scene out of a teen drama, Pete thought as Vance sucked deep purple hickeys into the neck of Bryce. The Prep responded by clawing at his lover's back in such a ferocious manner that Pete was worried he might tear the _leather_ of Vance's jacket in half. 

It was strangely…erotic? Pete had viewed a skinflick or two that had come on late on the television set in the Boys’ Dorm, but never once had Pete observed two men going at each other in such a devious way.

Well, besides Jimmy and Gord, of course.

It made Pete’s hands turn sweaty, legs feel slightly weakened, and brought on a crashing feeling of confusion mixed with _danger_ at the prospect of what may occur if the two boys were caught. In some weird, twisted, and curious way, it made Peter feel that he was somehow a part of the entire ordeal. He was quickly brought back to reality when a familiar voice taunted in his right ear, “This getting your panties in a sopping twist, Pete? You like watching them rut together, you little perv?”

Peter moved his gaze away from the rapidly turning X-rated scene before him, shaking his head and swiftly denying the accusation as quickly as it had been brought up. His hands became numb, body growing warm to mirror his already pink cheeks. “No, dude, that’s gross. Why would I be interested in some closeted walking contradictions spitting in each other’s mouths?”

It made Petey even _more_ nervous beyond his previous limit when he saw Gary boldly give a knowing smile that showed he hadn’t any doubt in his mind that he was being deceived. Pete inhaled a solid breath, chest puffed out in confidence of his words while he literally held his breath to hear how the ghost would respond.

Peter wasn’t gay. He knew this, there was no doubt in his mind. There was no way that he was gay, not at all. He did have some feminine tendencies, but his mom always reassured him that it was normal in young men who were confident of their sexuality. Why, Pete’s dad was the most feminine guy he knew! 

It didn’t make Peter feel any better, however, when he was reminded that his dad left his mom for a guy he had met at the library he worked at when restocking the “Health and Sexuality” section. 

Petey decided to leave the roof of the garage altogether, no longer interested in _people-watching_ if it meant observing two men furiously have a gay makeout session in front of him. 

“Wanna go into town?” Pete asked with his eyebrows drawn together at the ghost who observed the men with no shame. “I need to get some new winter gloves. Chad’s dog chased me around last year and tore a hole in my old pair.”

The ghost watched the students kiss, eyes lingering over their conjoined frames as they met together in unison. The scene was amusing to Gary, to say the least; It was a source of entertainment in his day that he hadn’t expected to present itself. 

_How often had they been meeting up like this? Had they kept their dirty secret for long or was it a spontaneous spur of the moment action? Did those two idiots actually believe that their hidden affair was anything more than a mix of teenage hormones and lust?_

Gary flicked a hand as he responded, “Yeah, whatever, Pete. Beats sitting here and watching these two lovebirds try and figure out what goes into which hole.”

The smaller of the pair let out a disgusted sigh at the imagery that entered his mind, shaking his head to wipe the thoughts away like an Etch-A-Sketch. Pete faced the ladder of the Greaser territory, peeking down from his height advantage on the roof. He eyed the space below in the clique’s hangout to ensure there was no stray leather-clad, cologne soaked student. When he confirmed that the premise was safe, he began his descent down the rickety silver ladder with his eyes carefully counting each rung on his way down. 

Pete spoke as he climbed, idly making conversation. “I heard that the Preppies still have Derby Harrington breathing down their necks even though he graduated last year. He and his big dumb boyfriend, Bif I think, keep coming back to try and run things at the House.”

The spirit floated from the top of the ladder, huffing in a breath of air that resembled a cheap laugh at the reminder of the clique leaders. The men who were in charge had to pass the torch off to a new member of their exclusive clubs as well as, to their dismay, allow others who they deemed worthy to join their clique. Some of them took it better than others. The Preps passed the gauntlet to Tad, claiming that he was most adequate to be their representative. 

This came with a stipulation, however, as Derby and Bif continued to return quite often to make sure that the Harrington House was running according to the high standard of an actual Harrington. With the way Tad ran around doing his bidding, it was as if Derby never left.

“Oh, I’m acutely aware,” Gary responded while levitating to the cement coated Earth. “I got chummy with Tad some time ago. He was easy to control way back then, so I’m sure that Harrington freak's bright enough to know that Tad is the perfect puppet to use.”

Gary knew that Tad would, eventually, become the leader of the House once Harrington was shipped off to an elite college that his parents bought him into. Gary could recall, though it was fuzzy, convincing the over-privileged brat that Jimmy was the source of nasty rumors with only a few well-placed whispers and backhanded insinuations. It made complete sense for the former leader to elect someone to carry out his every whim. It would’ve been a waste of flesh if Derby hadn’t seized the opportunity to continue playing politics at Bullworth while attending another school. Gary was almost impressed that the snotty blonde was able to use his brain to form a conceivable plan.

There were the Greasers, however, that seemed to be taking an opposite approach to the well thought out plan of the Preps.

“Those oil-reeking ‘The Outsiders’ impersonators, though? I’m shocked that they’re somehow still banding together after their poor selection of leader, though they didn’t have many options, did they?”

 _No, they did not,_ Pete internally answered while he exited the mentioned territory. He walked near the east entrance where the faculty parked their cars early in the morning, approaching the heavy iron gate that was often closed off during the beginning of the year. While walking by the math teacher’s navy blue clunker car, Pete examined the group out loud once he was confident that the pair were far away enough from their hangout. 

“Johnny was a shitty leader. He chased a slut and paid for it by losing the group’s respect. I don’t think any of the greaseballs would ever admit it because of their family, pack mentality, but I think they were relieved once he left. I, uh, don’t know about Peanut running the place, though. It seems like Ricky’s doing all of the heavy lifting while Peanut’s the face of the group.”

Once Johnny Vincent had left, or more so forcibly _removed_ from school grounds once he graduated, the confused gathering of Greasers weren’t sure where to turn. They had always followed strict rules that they were a family, yet the father of the lost kids was kicked out once he received his diploma. In desperation, as Pete saw it, they voted Peanut to be their new (and _hopefully_ improved) leader. Ricky was immediately cast as the clique’s second in command and was often seen playing peacemaker for the Greasers while Peanut pretended to have a clue about what was going on.

Gary nodded in agreement, floating next to his tethered human with his arms crossed in thought. It was a nice, fairly accurate observation of the tribe. The boys had their main man cutoff, so of course, they scrambled to find someone to heal the wound as quickly as possible. Gary didn’t believe for a _second_ that they put any thought into the election other than whoever had the greasiest, slickest hair, but it didn’t really matter. 

All of them would eventually drain down the same shit tube into the criminal system. Let them play house while they can! They’ll find comfort in their found family trope when they’re using their last quarter for their one promised phone call. 

“I wouldn’t trust Johnny Vincent to lead a goldfish.” Gary scoffed with his typical heavy criticism. “They’re no different from the burnout Townies. Who took over the Jocks, since we are on the subject of ill-fitting leaders?”

Bleh. The _Jocks._

Damon was second in command when Ted was leader of the clique, both of them proving that it really only did take _muscles_ and no brains to lead a group of steroid apes to victory. When Ted graduated and left for college, he placed Damon in charge, the Junior moving up a peg to take control of the clique that believed in only brute force. 

Pete had spotted the once charged clique leader Ted roaming around the football field on occasion when he passed by to attend gym class, but he wasn’t sure what the former student was doing on the field. Petey didn’t pay that much attention.

“The other big guy, Damon,” Pete answered while they walked past the entrance to the parking lot, turning right on the sidewalk to head towards the bikes that were chained with heavy silver locks. “The only clique that's actually thriving is the Nerds. Beatrice is a natural leader and only picks fights she knows they’ll win.”

Beatrice was perfectly fit for the role of guiding the Nerds to success. She was open to communicate to the other gangs that ran the school, usually going for a defensive position while at the same time refusing to put up with torture and abuse of the men that belonged to the other cliques. She was strong, confident, and calm. Beatrice was everything that Earnest was not.

The Bullies really weren’t worth mentioning in the conversation. Everyone around the schoolyard knew that Russell got held back for what had to be the 80th time and everyone knew that he was still top dog when it came to punching and spine breaking.

They eventually came across his yellow paint chipped bike, digging into his pocket in search of the brass key that would free his machine to ride once more. Gary floated nearby, peering up at the cloudy sky that offered the sun randomly. 

“And what about those stragglers, the Non-Cliques? Who's their leader now?”

Pete tilted his view up at Gary while he bent down onto his knees to fiddle with the padlock to the bike. He peeked back to the key as he inserted it in, twisting it in the correct direction as it popped loose from the thick metal chains. Pete gathered up the now free chains, holding them in his arms as he wrapped the heavy silver into a loop. 

“You already know the answer to that, Gary.”

The boy climbed on top of the worn bike seat, testing the brakes as he made sure not to look towards Gary. It wasn’t worth spawning a fight between them by mentioning _you-know-who’s_ name, especially when they were having a great day together.

Peter prayed that Gary would keep the peace as he peddled off towards the stores.

**\-------------------**

Both of the boys felt out of place in the overly expensive Aquaberry store that was tiled with polished marble and a gold plated trim. The store smelt _clean,_ as if the facility itself was the definition and standard of cleanliness. It was void of Preps who were in class _(thank God)_ with the only other people in the store being the shop clerk and a few adults who gave Pete dirty looks for skipping school. The storekeeper instantly pretended to be too good to look at Peter when the boy stumbled in the door, which was absolutely fine by Pete. The fewer eyes on him, the better.

“What did you want from here again?” Gary questioned with an eyebrow raised as he peeked at the posters of Derby Harrington posing on the wall. “Needed some Aquaberry spandex or something?”

Pete made a disgusted face as his mind flashed him an overtly inappropriate picture of the store selling Aquaberry clad underwear, Preps coming in almost fully naked and trying on the outfit while posing to-

“It was gloves, right?”

Pete forced his mind to leave the obscure train of thought behind, nodding as he stepped to one of the many racks of folded clothes that were pressed and on display. 

“Gloves,” Peter confirmed while, supposedly, seeming as if he was talking to himself. “I needed some gloves and usually they’re cheaper at the beginning of the season instead of the middle of winter. I hate shopping at these rich kid stores, but their gloves have the best warmth insulation.”

“Probably because they’re lined with genuine rabbit fur, or some rich shit.”

While scanning through the laid out table displays, Peter hummed a tune he couldn’t recall the origins of, the song filled with male and female vocals exchanging the melodies in a game of give-and-take. After a few minutes of browsing through their newest Aquaberry collection, Petey found himself staring directly at a rack of gloves that were freshly on display, bright colors of blue with deep shades of firm navy dotted the patterns of careful stitching.

But it simply wasn’t his style. Pete never felt right wearing Aquaberry. 

Wearing the clique’s signature brand made Petey feel as if he was a fan or wannabe for a group of kids he would never fit in with. There was one time months ago where Gord managed to convince Jimmy, who was able to talk _Petey_ into trying on an Aquaberry Bullworth branded vest; Though the material was comfortable and didn’t make Pete look like a _total_ wimp, he quickly removed it soon after. 

Pete smiled in remembrance at how he looked in the mirror, and how Gord was practically sobbing from the _‘pauper-turned-symbol-of-elegance_ ’ as he so _lovingly_ had put it. 

It was a nice memory, one that was from before Gary came back into his life for a second round of torment.

_Speaking of-_

Pete turned his head to search for Gary, eyebrows furrowing together as he glanced around the empty store for his ghost. By now, the rest of the patrons had left, the cashier being the only (alive) soul. 

“Gary?”

The student’s anxiety spiked when he didn’t get a response, worried about the possible trouble that the entity could be getting into that would ultimately result in Petey being blamed. 

_There wasn’t much he could do though, right? He had no power t-_

“Oh, my god. Gary! You didn’t!”

Pete felt a swell of laughter rise from his chest, anxiety fading in an instant when he got an eyeful of Gary who floated a few feet in front of him. The ghost had been, of course, up to no-good just as Peter had guessed.

Gary Smith floated a few inches off the ground with a large grin, covered from head-to-toe in _layers_ of Aquaberry — as much as he could get on without weighing himself down; Gary had _at least_ six different vests from their newest collection on, legs bundled in thick layers of khaki pants that were almost falling off of him, button-ups neatly done one on top of the other, and even a few rain hats and winter beanies that he had found along the way.

Petey bent over laughing as the ridiculous display of childish behavior, tears stinging his eyes from the sudden outburst of laughter that left him at the sight of the (mostly) serious deceased teenager covered in as much of the clique’s outfit that he could.

“It’s their newest collection,” Gary informed with a smile that took pride in his accomplishment. “Those rich kids are gonna shit themselves when their pompous asses see that the entire stock has been, assumably, bought out.”

Gary was weak in the physical world, unable to move much of anything, though there was a specific exception. He was able to pick up fabric, though when he did so the material would seemingly _disappear_ as he wore it. Gary, to his dismay, wasn’t able to fashion floating clothes that would appear to be worn by some invisible being, a fact that crushed his dreams of wanting to scare the residents of the Boys’ Dorm.

By wearing all of the outfits that he could, he effectively vanished the material from existence. It was a mere prank to Pete, but an act of defiance to Gary. Either way, both of the boys laughed as they walked to the checkout to purchase a pair of light lavender gloves with a pink seam.

After they left the store, no doubt scaring the man at the counter who observed Peter laughing hysterically at nothing but air, the boys decided to stop by the pier that was only a minute’s bike ride from the Aquaberry establishment. Gary had been complaining in no time about the warm weight of the outfits, requesting that their next destination was to be the ocean where they could discard the layers without the Preps ever getting a chance to wear the new collection.

Pete hopped off of his bike once they reached the end of the rickety wooden pier that was carved with various slogans and hearts. Gary made quick work of walking to the edge of the dock where he began stripping off the several layered thick vests, back facing Pete as he made a pile of discarded clothes on the worn pier to his right. 

“You better not be watching the show, Pete,” Gary mocked with his usual snide comments. “Or do I have to make you walk away until I feel it?”

The boys had a rule between them for Pete’s own peace of mind. When Petey was to shower or use the bathroom or just generally want privacy, he made Gary stand far enough away that the threatening tingle could be felt on Pete’s skin. It was a safety measure for the student to ensure that Gary wasn't peeping on him or up to nothing good, but the ghost did occasionally _”accidentally”_ take a step too far back and cause a jolt of pain through the showering boy.

You know. Perfectly normal average friend things. 

“Not interested, Gary, but thanks,” Pete responded while walking by the messily sketched drawings and words that decorated the pier siding. Cute little affirmations of love consisting of the names of various students were the most popular, though some of the writing was a bit unclear.

“Blue-Boy plus VM,” Pete read aloud to Gary. He peered down a little further at a familiar name that rested a few inches underneath “Looks like…Trent plus someone? It starts with a _’K’_ but the rest of the name is scratched out?”

Gary chuckled to himself quietly as he continued undressing at the end of the dock. 

Unfortunately, the ghost was aware of most of the names that were written on the pier and the exact state of the relationships that surrounded them. Gary had figured long before he was deceased that most of the students at Bullworth were homosexual, Vance and Bryce being a perfect example. The entity was able to spy on the dorm rooms surrounding him when Peter was asleep for the night, and _boy,_ there were _a lot_ of closet cases at Bullworth Academy. 

Pete stared at the _'K'_ , curious to know the identity of the person Trent had sworn his heart to. "What about that Non-Clique girl, Christy? Is her name spelled with a _'K'?"_

“Trust me, it isn’t Christy, Pete.”

Petey racked his brain trying to recall who else at Bullworth could have a _’K’_ as the start of their name, but ended up abandoning the thought to look at more graffiti. He found a band named, _”Riot of the Black Torch,”_ with quick signatures signed in black permanent marker. To the left of the musical group was a long, drawn-out equation of formulas and symbols that Peter had never even _seen_ before. While he was reading the complex math problem, struggling to understand how they were jumping from step-to-step, his eyes wandered down to the final solution of the problem that was a simple two-digit number.

69\. _Nice._

“Wait, Gary, listen to this one,” Pete said, turning his head briefly to observe the ghost who was unbuttoning multiple inches thick of brand new khaki pants. “There’s two sets of handwriting. One says, _’Not all rich people are snobby,’_ and the other one says, _’Not all paupers are negligent.’_ Who do you think that belongs to?”

The ghost thought it over for only a brief moment, unzipping the pants that he wore and shimmying out of them until he was kicking the new articles towards the growing pile of Aquaberry. Gary replied, “Probably one of those Preppie and Greaser pairs. May even be Romeo and Juliet from this morning. Honestly, Pete, take your pick.”

Peter stood away from the writings, but not before he found one simple word that caught his eye. The boy tilted his head in confusion, eyebrows moving together as he stared at the conjoined opposing words that didn’t seem to make an ounce of sense. “What the hell is a _psychofluff?_ ”

Gary was nearing the end of his unmasking of the layers of clothing, shrugging as he took his time unbuttoning the long-sleeved shirts that were suffocating his non-breathing body. “No idea. Maybe a fluffy psycho?”

The answer from the ghost didn’t provide any clarity. Knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer from the pier, Pete moved away from the scribbled phrases and over to the farthest right corner of the ocean dock. The vandalism at this section of the pier made a steady shift from writing, to drawings that were either drawn atop the wood or carved in. Some of the drawings were beautiful and detailed, such as a rose growing in front of a sturdy brick wall, while others were small doodles that ranged from smiley faces to round ghosts. 

The further Peter traveled, however, the nastier the art became.

It was expected to see an extreme amount of defacement with drawings of male anatomy, but it was the graphic content _next to_ the dicks that sent a shiver up Pete’s body.

_‘I’m glad that fucking psycho is DEAD.’_

_’Have fun in hell!’_

_’He didn’t choke soon enough.’_

This type of graffiti went on for some time, littering any available space on the pier’s planks that weren’t already taken by someone else’s writing. It all consisted of horrible, direct statements that were aimed at the ghost who was silently and peacefully standing a few feet from him. Pete was horrified at the words, eyes reading over the phrases directed at Gary on repeat. 

How could people say these things? How could they in good conscience write them for the public to see when Gary is _dead?_

A good portion of the phrases, however, had been crossed out by an unknown vigilante. The newest ones that still reflected the awful sentences towards the ghost seemed newer, the ink fresher and less obstructed by the weather that had passed by in the last few weeks. The older ones that taunted and teased Gary had been scraped off with a knife-like object or erased using a heavy black marker to draw overtop.

“Alright, Pete,” Gary called from his spot in the upper middle of the dock. “You ready to throw away thousands of dollars worth of clothes?”

Peter fished into his pocket to find a loose pen, answering back with a small shout over the mildly noisy waves, “Yeah, just give me a second!”

Luckily Petey found a capped marker that was almost completely out of ink, taking the lid off and using what little power it still had in it to cross out the ill writing towards the ghost. He scribbled each phrase generously until there wasn't a single hint at what was underneath, standing back a foot or so to admire his own work of vandalism. He was doing an illegal action for good, though he had the feeling that if he were to return in the near future, there would be another set of nasty insults.

Gary smiled wickedly at the large towered pile of Aquaberry clothes when Pete eventually joined the ghost by his side. He was still wearing a full Aquaberry outfit, but it was without the several layers on top. The ghost figured that he might as well keep a change of expensive clothes in case he needed to have a second funeral where he looked presentable. 

The pile had to be, at least, around $2,000 worth of brand new clothing that was about to be discarded into the ocean out of nothing but pure spite for the Preps. 

_Not bad for a ghost who can’t pick up anything._

“Well,” Gary pronounced with a satisfied sigh. “Would you like to do the honors of performing the first toss, Petey?”

_Really?_

Pete turned his gaze from the pile of discarded clothes to Gary, surprised that the ghost was offering for him to be the first to throw a shirt into the sea. Being the one who had stolen the clothing in the first place, Pete would've assumed that Gary wanted to be the one experiencing the pay off of his own work but no; This was a genuinely kind offer that he was making to allow Pete to have the first throw.

“Yeah, um,” Pete confirmed with a nod as he bent down to pick up a silk woven button-up shirt. 

Without hesitation Peter swung his arm back in a wind-up motion, balling up the shirt in his fist before stepping forward and tossing the fabric into the crashing waves below the boys. It floated to the top of the seafoam surface, expensive clothing meeting with the salty sea as it became drenched in water. 

“Hell yeah,” Gary chimed as he began working on throwing his fair share of clothes into the ocean. Both of the boys began racing to get rid of the stolen evidence, not wanting a felony to hang over their heads with the amount of money that was stitched into the Aquaberry outfits. 

“I don’t think this is doing any good for the whales,” Pete spoke as he threw wads of pants in, “I think this is very anti-conservation.”

Gary rolled his eyes as he continued to work, shrugging his shoulders in an uncaring fashion while he lifted a loose hat with what strength he was able to show off. “Who cares? With the barrel loads of oil the Harringtons dump into the sea, does it really matter?”

_No, not really, but it was more the principle of the thing._

After a few long minutes of the boys throwing Aquaberry straight into the ocean, their laughs died down with eyes watching the melancholy sea in eventual silence. The air moved Pete’s hair that he was attempting to grow out, the taste of sea salt on his lips, and the warmth of the sun on his face. There weren’t any intruding noises of children yelling insults or random firecrackers being set off with the intention of harming an innocent bystander. 

There was just the ocean, Peter, and Gary.

It was moments like these that Pete knew that the confusion and heartache that came with Gary being tethered to him was worth it to some degree. Watching the deceased student stare at the skyline with a sense of peace on his face caused Pete to feel warmth across his chest. He wondered what happened to Gary before he died, constantly thinking about the endless list of circumstances that surrounded his death.

Pete hoped that however Gary died, it was at least peaceful.

After watching the sea spawn waves from the far depth, Pete began laughing quietly to himself with a smile. Gary turned his eyes from the flickering ocean to the chuckling boy, tilting his head down to watch Pete. “What’s so funny?”

Pete calmed his laugh, though a few giggles still snuck in as he relayed the memory to Gary. “You remember when we were kids and you threw that dead squirrel at me?”

_Oh, yeah._

Gary nodded as his own smile began appearing in the corners of his mouth, recalling the vivid memory of the time when he and Pete were bickering. 

“I sure do,” Gary replied with a hum of approval. “You were being a giant baby and wouldn’t go down the huge slide that was on the playground. You kept saying that it was too high and that you were going to pass out from the height even though it really wasn’t _that_ bad.”

Pete crossed his arms, though his smile never faltered. “And what did you decide to do, Mr. Smith?”

“What else could I do besides offer some encouragement, Peter?”

“You threw a _dead squirrel_ at me! It had been rotting and baking in the sun! I swear that one of its eyes popped out when you flung it at me!”

Gary laughed at the ever-growing shrillness in Pete’s voice as he jokingly accused the ghost of the horrible crime of throwing a dead animal carcass at him. They were playing around, but the memory wasn’t fabricated in the least. Gary still defended his actions, however, by adding on, “But it worked, didn’t it? You went down that slide so fast that you had road rash by the time you came down.”

The smaller of the pair kept his arms crossed, smile wide as he turned his view back to the beautiful ocean scene in front of them. Pete stated with no ill intentions, “You are absolutely ridiculous, man.”

_Fair._

“You still keep me around for some reason, though,” Gary teased with a lighthearted tone at the predicament Peter was in. Well, the predicament _both_ of them were in.

Gary’s eyes wandered away from the sea when his prickling boredom started up again, looking to the right of the pier to view the house that sat tucked into the corner of the town by the lighthouse. Squinting his eyes to get a good look, Gary released a disgusted noise as he realized who the home belonged to. 

“Oh, great. It’s Jimmy’s whorehouse.”

Peter moved his eyes to view the worn-down building that was hoisted up by pillars and beams; It was once a rec house that belonged to the Preppies, but somehow Jimmy had won it in a boxing competition. 

_He won an entire goddamn house that the Preps still paid property tax on. How does this shit happen to Jimmy? Pete can’t even win a $2 lottery scratcher._

“You know what we should do?” Gary asked rhetorically in a tone that was considerably less friendly than the one he had been sporting a moment prior. “We should go over there and completely _wreck_ the place. I bet we could find some bats or something to smash all of his shit up with. There have to be some rocks lying around that we can throw through the windows.”

_The peace was nice while it lasted, at least._

Pete shook his head, backing away from the front of the dock while he offered up a new suggestion that would (hopefully) stimulate Gary’s constant need for activity. 

“What if,” Petey mused, “we take that craving for throwing rocks and we throw _baseballs_ instead? We’re close enough to the carnival and I still have some money left over for a ticket.”

It was an admirable attempt at a compromise. Gary knew that Petey would have never agreed to destroying Jimmy’s property, especially since being caught meant Pete would be the one taking the fall. 

Letting out a sigh at the wasted opportunity, Gary crossed his arms tightly and grumbled. “Fine. Just know you owe me one, though. You bring me to Jimmy’s slut fuck hideout and expect me to _not_ wanna cause some damage? Those are some high expectations, Petey.”

The pair began walking toward Pete’s bike, but he was stopped mid-step as his eyes caught the writing that dotted the pier. 

“Wait,” Peter said, crouching down to his knees as he got close to the sprawled out writing and crude drawings that were etched into the paneling. “You’re right. We still can cause some damage, but it’s just gonna be on a much smaller scale.”

Pulling out the marker that he used earlier, Pete waved it in the air in front of Gary as he coerced the ghost into putting a hold on the pouting. It took the entity no time at all to realize the plan that Petey was suggesting, smirking at the sudden truce that Peter proposed. Gary knew that Pete was almost always a law-abiding citizen, oftentimes annoyingly so, but he was offering to bend his morals as a peace treaty. 

It was sweet.

“Well,” Gary asked with his eyes flickering from Pete to the plank wall. “What’re you waiting for? Draw something.”

Eyeing the blank space between the sandwich of words and phrases, Pete let out a breath of air as he concentrated on what he should put. Gary was far from the artistic type, so that left Pete to try and come up with an image that was suitable to leave their mark with. After composing an idea he felt encapsulated both of their dilemmas, Pete bent down to the wood with one flat hand resting on the wall as his left began drawing.

After a short minute, Pete stood up from his place on the pier and acknowledged his work next to Gary.

It was two messily drawn stick figures who had a healthy distance apart from them, arms stuck out and faceless without any eyes or mouths. The only indication of personality was the stick figure on the left, a single line drawn down across where his left eyebrow and eye should be to resemble a scar. In between the space that divided the two stick men was a single hard line that had been crossed over multiple times with the marker, generously fat and proud in size. 

“It’s us,” Peter informed as he glanced at the smaller stick figure on the right. “We’re tethered together. It’s a symbol.”

The student waited to hear a snarky comment leave the ghost’s mouth, but to his surprise, there was no such thing heading his way. The entity nodded as he observed the quick sketch, eyes tracing over the drawing multiple times as he viewed the work. 

“It looks good, Pete,” Gary informed with a tone laced with genuine sincerity. There wasn’t any hint of sarcasm or of a backhanded compliment that would be in accompaniment. 

With one final view of the doodle, the boys headed off in the direction of the bike as Pete continued to ponder what the conjoined word that rested inches from the drawing meant.

Once the boys arrived at the carnival and paid for a single blue paper ticket that they shared between them, they instantly set off to explore the games and stalls that the amusement park had to offer. Pete had been to the attractions only a handful of times, mostly when Jimmy had gotten bored over the previous school year and didn’t feel the urge to bring along an annoying date. 

Pete and Gary took their time walking through the two aisles that held games on either side, quipping and providing sarcasm at the baby-like games Peter _still_ somehow failed to win any copious number of tickets at. 

After some time, the haunted pair made their way to the back of the lot after Peter refused to abide by Gary and hop on the rickety roller coaster that seemed too unstable to be running. They came across the bottle shooting game, Pete stepping up to the worn mat that showed the participants where to stand to begin the game. 

“Do _you_ have what it takes to become the Texas Ranger,” the older carny drawled out with a bored tone, eyes completely void of life. “If so, I’ll take a single buck for you to prove that you ain’t a yellow belly— kid, just give me a dollar if you wanna play.”

Pete agreed, Gary amused at the soulless booth member who skipped the script and decided to cut right to the chase. After handing over a crumpled dollar bill, the carny stepped away from Pete and visibly covered his eyes with his sweaty hands to ensure that he didn’t lose an eye during the game.

The cardboard figures on the stands began shifting by on the conveyor belt, images of girls in distress and genuine glass bottles easing by slowly to allow Peter time to shoot at the objects. He wasn’t a very good shot, Gary took note of, but Petey got into the groove of concentration as he fired off skewed plastic bullets in the direction of any moving target. 

“This would be ten times more fun if I could actually help you,” Gary huffed with crossed arms. “Use some ghost powers to break a bottle or knock over a stand or something.”

It wasn’t that Gary was having a bad time, no, it was the fact that he couldn’t participate. He did enjoy seeing Pete stick out his tongue in heavy concentration as if he were some cartoon character, though; It was a world of difference from the typically distressed student he had come to grow close to in their years spent by each other’s sides. 

After the game ended, the carny awarded Pete two measly tickets with a snarky, “Better luck next time, _sharpshooter._ ”

“This game is rigged...” Pete mumbled as he took the tickets from the stall worker, sighing as he stuffed the individual pieces of paper into his pocket. He was about to leave in search of another game, but was interrupted by a yelling voice.

_”Hey, no way! It’s my biggest fan!”_

Pete turned his body away from the glass shooting stall, shifting his body to get a view at the voice that was shouting in his direction. To Petey’s surprise, it was a tall, handsomely rough Townie that was displaying a smile of pure joy at the coincidence of meeting. Peter shifted his eyebrows together for a moment, scanning the Townie’s face while searching through his memory of why he looked so damn familiar. However, as the dropout drew closer to the smaller student, it was unmistakable that he had definitely had an encounter with Pete before.

Seeing the puzzled and downright _awkward_ expression on Peter’s face only caused the singer to laugh without any ill intentions. 

“It’s me, man,” he exclaimed happily once he stopped walking in front of Pete, only a short few feet distance between them. “Remember me? You about got eighty staples in your head? No? Your name is Pavel, though, right?”

The student shook his head, racking his brain trying to remember why the man looked so familiar. Pete answered, irritation growing at the unplaced face of the Townie, “No, uh, it’s Pete.”

The faux mohawked kid chuckled softly at his mistake, mentally repeating it a few times to ensure that he wouldn’t forget it again. It had been months since the boy had nose-dived directly onto his stage while the band was performing, though it was certainly quite the first impression. 

Eyes flickering over Pete’s face, the singer’s smile grew wider at the prospect of being forgettable. He didn’t know of anyone in town who _didn’t_ know his name. This was gold. 

“Aw, come on, kid,” the musician mused with a fat smile. “I ain’t that plain, am I? You seriously don’t remember me? I gave you a big kiss on stage! You must get those all the time then, amirite?” 

Oh. Oh!

_Duncan!?_

The Townie could almost see the lightbulb that went off above Pete’s head at the reminder, the student shifting his fidgeting hands into his pocket as he recalled the night that he was kissed by the singer in front of the _entire town._ Petey spoke with slight embarrassment, “Yeah! I remember you! Duncan— how could I forget? That was, um, a crazy night.”

Duncan nodded in agreement, radiating carefree positivity with a smile that was a great fit on his face. 

“It sure was,” he hummed in delight, thinking back to the roaring crowd that sobbed for an encore before they closed down for the night. “Packed too, wasn’t it? Damn, I knew we should’ve charged per kid! Anyway, doesn’t matter. What’cha doin’ here all by yourself? Ain’t it a school day? Or are you playin’ hooky and running with the wild side?”

Pete shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, digging the heels of his worn sneakers into the dirt as the conversation progressed. His nerves were growing unsteady each moment that passed, heart beating a little quicker. 

_Why?_

It was difficult for Pete to look the man in the eye, especially because he knew that Gary was staring daggers at both of them at that very moment. 

“Oh, um,” Pete struggled to get the words out. “We- _I’m_ taking the day off. I’ve been kinda stressed lately and I thought that I-I could get a little break in before we’re overloaded with pre-holiday exams, you know?”

 _No, Duncan did not know,_ but he was glad that Pete was at least taking care of himself. He never understood school and was pressured into dropping out from every angle; The school staff, the bullies — hell, even his _parents_ wanted Duncan to drop out! He regretted missing class as often as he did when he was enrolled, but he understood the thrill that came with skipping out on a boring lecture. 

Smirking at the apparent anxiousness of Peter, Duncan stepped forward and wrapped a heavy arm around Pete’s shoulder, turning the kid and guiding him away from the carnival stall to give them privacy. 

“Lemme give you some advice, okay?” The Townie led them towards the wooden fence that neared the mouth of the Haunted House, Pete shrinking against the hand that gripped his Bullworth uniform loosely. Pete could feel the warmness of the scuffed hand bleeding through his shirt, calluses thick from the constant strumming of his guitar. 

"Okay..." The student replied as they headed in a random direction, eyes peeking up to steal a look of the taller man every chance he could without being caught. Duncan was handsome in an uncaring sort of way, a perfect image for his punk rock band and _definitely_ the perfect heart-throb to a crowd of screaming fangirls.

_Wasn’t he gay, though? Didn’t he and Jimmy have a short thing at some point?_

“You see, Pete, when I was in school, the teachers were absolute garbage. They didn’t teach me ‘bout nothin’, okay? And the kids,” Duncan whistled dramatically while shaking his head at the recollection of the relentless bullies. “They were absolute shitheads! Awful, I tell ‘ya. I dropped out because I couldn’t take the bullying and the constant abuse! Ain’t that sad sob story? Anyway, I’m just sayin’ that I get how tough school is— especially at Bullworth! It ain’t sunshine and rainbows there. I regret droppin’ out, yeah, but without me skippin’ out on an education, I would’ve never formed _‘Riot of the Black Torch,’_ which would’ve sucked ass. Basically, I’m just letting you know that you ain’t alone. What kinda idol would I be if I didn’t offer my biggest fan some advice, right? A shitty one. That’s what I’d be.”

Pete listened to the man drone on, attempting to tune into the words Duncan was feeding him but finding it difficult due to the constant interruptions and commentary from the ghost that followed. Gary was _not happy_ at the closeness of Duncan, anger starting to seeth when he observed the dropout scumbag put a hand on Pete while giving him side glances straight out of a romantic comedy. 

Who did this burnout think he was? Some hotshot because he learned how to play a note on a guitar? What gave him the right to get in Pete’s bubble, in _their_ bubble?

Duncan stopped walking after they had traveled a short distance away from the carnival booth, removing his hand from Pete’s shoulder and stepping in the kid’s line of vision so they were facing each other straight on. Duncan was significantly taller, broader, and speckled with shitty trailer done tattoos that showed shaky lines of ink. He was selling a brand of anarchy that caused Pete’s chest to tighten for some unknown reason, the man in front of him dripping with self-assurance. 

“Well, um,” Pete spoke up, eyes fluttering down as his stomach twisted into tight knots. “I don’t think I’m gonna drop out or anything. I’m a senior, so I'm almost done. I, uh, also wanted to say that…I hadn’t seen your show before that night. It was actually the first concert I've ever been to, so I doubt I’m your biggest fan. I got the impression that there were girls in there that would cut off their left arm just to spend an hour with you.”

The Townie chuckled softly, nodding in agreement when he thought back to some of his more _devoted_ fans. Their band was only a big deal in Bullworth, not even the surrounding cities knowing their name, but they provided a voice of rebellion to those who were too quiet to speak out. Because of their messages and meaning behind their stamp of approval for the wild side, they grew in popularity with only a few shows. 

Duncan considered himself beyond lucky to be where he was at in his musical career, adoring mobs of people willing to pay outrageous dollars to see him play. Though, he had taken a special interest in Pete the moment he had risked breaking his entire face by toppling onto his stage. Biggest fan or not, Duncan felt a strange connection between the two of them. It made him want to get closer to the student. 

“That’s okay,” Duncan reassured with a smile, crossing his arms nonchalantly. “I’m still impressed! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat shit as hard as you did just so you could talk to me. It’s flatterin’, but we always stick around after shows to talk to people. I didn’t mind you comin’ on stage, though. It added some flair to my evening— plus, I got to kiss a cute smarty-pants schoolboy. You can dive up there anytime.”

_Oh, my god. Was he flirting?!_

Pete’s mouth had gone dry with anxiety depleting his resources, eyes glancing around at the carnival attendees rather than the musician who was laying on the charm in thick layers. 

Pete didn’t know how to flirt! Not at all! How was he supposed to match the competition of someone who was naturally charismatic and thrived in situations of stress? 

Clearing his throat in an attempt to spawn some courage, Pete tilted his eyes from the dirt scuffed ground to the taller kid who had laid the groundwork. Peter answered, “W-Well, maybe _I will come?_ You know- to the, um, t-to the next show you have- I didn’t mean-”

Tingling. Small feet of invisible ants threatened Petey’s skin, the feeling of insects crawling across every surface of flesh spontaneously. 

_No_ , Pete mentally cursed to himself while his eyes were ripped away from Duncan in search of the ghost. _Not now!_

Pete spun in a slow circle while his eyes scanned for the entity that was silently threatening him with the ability of harsh pain, skin vibrating an unseeable sensation. He was panicking as he looked around, crowds of people and students skipping school making it difficult to spot the near translucent ghost in the sunlight. 

Peter’s eyes finally met with the glaring Gary who stood a considerable distance away; The ghost’s hands were tightly wound into fists with his head low, hinting at the daring threat of taking a few steps backwards. The tingling was harshly uncomfortable while daring to cross the line into _agonizing._

Pete didn’t want to cause a scene at the carnival, especially not in front of Duncan.

“Hey, man, you okay? You’re pale as hell. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost or somethin’.”

_Ha._

Petey turned his gaze from the ghost to the concerned Duncan, expression void of happiness and instead replaced with concern. Pete was mentally bracing himself for another bout of extreme pain, his body itching at the overhead threat that could cause social embarrassment and bodily harm. 

Eyes flickering to Gary for a moment, then back to Duncan, Peter responded with a shaky exhale. “Y-Yeah! I’m fine. I, uh, just remembered that I have to go water my plant! My, um, cactus! Yeah. I forgot to water my…cactus?”

_That was the best lie he could come up with?!_

Duncan watched Pete for a moment, eyes wide and observing with a blank expression and a light hue that swarmed on the musician’s cheeks. _Peter was absolutely adorable._

Letting out a comforting laugh, he leaned forward and patted Pete’s shoulder with his familiar heavy hand, grinning through the giggles that came on suddenly. “Oh, sure, right. Cactus care is important, after all!”

The singer knew he was lied to, but wasn’t sure why. But in all honesty, the reasoning for the white lie didn’t matter to him; Duncan was just happy that he got to share a few minutes with the boy he had been thinking about often ever since he had crash-landed in front of him. At every show since then, the musician would scan the crowd for Petey’s face, but never found him again after that night at The Final Cut.

_Until now._

Duncan’s laugh eventually subsided, Pete scolding himself mentally for the extremely unconvincing lie that he had come up with. 

_Watering a cactus? Really?_

The Townie ran his left hand through the short layer of his mohawk, releasing a satisfied breath at the laughing fit that he encountered. Eyes moving to view Pete, he smiled warmly at the sunlight that lit up the face of the academy student. 

“I like you, Pete,” Duncan confirmed with a short nod, a toothy grin showing off his chipped, imperfect teeth. “You’re alright— for a Bullworth kid. I’ll catch you ‘round, okay? I’ll save you a backstage pass.”

The Townie tossed up his hand in a brief wave as he began to walk away, whistling a tune under his breath that Pete swore was the same one he sang during the cheek kiss on stage. 

The tingling of Peter’s skin stopped the moment the musician headed off into a distant direction away from the conversation. Petey’s eyes were focused on the kicked up dirt around him, a generous coating of brown dust laying neatly across the top of his already worn sneakers. He didn’t have to look up to know that the ghost was less than arm’s length away, feeling the presence of the entity floating by him as if he had the energy of a real person.

“What is your _deal?”_

Gary’s head snapped towards Pete at the words that were growled out from the smaller student, taken aback for a brief second at the question. Pete’s eyes were shut tight, fists gripping his navy blue vest in frustration.

Wait. What was _Gary’s_ deal? Seriously?

The ghost let out a scoff, crossing his arms as he hovered in front of Peter where Duncan had stood just moments ago. “For starters-”

Gary wasn’t able to finish his quip. Pete lifted his head from glaring at the dirt to staring directly at the ghost, head tilting up at the taller of the duo to meet his eyes perfectly. “You complete _asshole!_ It’s bad enough that I came to this stupid little kid’s amusement park, but _no,_ you then had to go and threaten me with excruciating pain because I talked to someone who was interested in socializing with me! What is your _damage?_ What is it about your personality that is so _flawed_ that you have to gatekeep my entire life?”

_Oh. Well, this was unexpected. Pete was…standing up for himself?_

The ghost kept his arms crossed, though his fingers were digging into his ghoulified flesh at the sudden outburst of Pete. His dead eyes flickered to the faces of the people at the carnival who passed by, most of which either didn’t notice Peter yelling at the thin air or didn’t care enough to take note of it. 

Petey's hands trembled from anger. “Not to mention the fact that I’m _stuck_ with you! It would be nice to get a moment of peace before you go about scheming another way to make my life miserable, but I have to suffer through every second of the day with you. A local celebrity noticed me, actually _looked_ at me and genuinely wanted to _talk to me,_ and you’re so jealous and narcissistic that you aren’t even able to _fathom_ the thought of not being in control of me for five _fucking_ minutes!”

And then, Pete crossed the line he had been teetering on.

“You think I _want_ to be haunted by you?! I’m living in hell, Gary! I can’t escape you! I want you to leave me _alone!_ Nobody could put up with your shit when you were alive, so please, why the hell am I the only one who won the world’s unluckiest lottery and got tethered to _you_ of all people?”

Gary felt his own anger bubble over to the surface. His own emotions could no longer be contained at the chastising he was receiving, deriding tone snarling with spite. “Oh, Peter, you fucking _moron!_ You really think that _you're_ the one who is trapped?”

The ghost extended his arms, pulling in the air around him as he pointed at himself with months worth of resentment, confusion, and irritation came flooding out all at once. “I can’t go anywhere without you holding my hand! I can’t even move a _paperclip_ because I’m so fucking _powerless!_ How are you going to stand there on your pedestal and tell me that _you're_ the one who has it bad?”

Gary did have a point.

Unfortunately.

Gary was unable to roam freely, the complete opposite of how ghosts were usually portrayed in cheesy decades-old horror films. He couldn’t move items in the physical realm whenever he pleased, either. He was tethered to Pete and that invisible rope may as well have been a leash and collar. It astounded Gary that Petey had somehow convinced himself that _he_ was the one suffering. 

_Had he not taken an accurate, unbiased look at the situation?_

Both of the boys were breathing heavily due to the shouting, hands shaking with anger. They mutually understood that had Gary been alive, they most likely would’ve been tumbling around in the dirt by now as they expressed their anger physically. Pete knew he wasn’t a fighter, far from it, but at that very moment, Pete swore that some of Jimmy must’ve rubbed off on him.

He wanted to _deck_ Gary.

“You always did this, Pete, even when we were little,” Gary continued, glare low and pointed. “Like routine, you sat around moping and making everything about you! I wanted to climb the ranks, get into a position of power, but you only wanted to sit around feeling _bad_ about yourself!”

Pete's eyes darted to the ground for a moment, breaking eye contact as the words of Gary pelted him without forgiveness. Peter could feel his own heartbeat ringing in his ears, pounding in his head from the outburst that left him moments prior. 

“You frame yourself in this light that you're the only one _suffering_ because of our situation. _Our_ situation. You think you got it bad, little Pete? What about me? What can I do besides float next to you? I’m _forced_ to follow you around!” 

They both confronted it. It was said between them for the first time, the thin veil that they danced around being torn apart all at once.

“I’m fucking _dead!”_

A scream pierced the air from the carnival stall next to the bickering boys as the sound of shattering glass radiated through the carnival walls. Attendees stopped walking midstep to observe the hollering staff member that was ducking in the stall of the glass bottle game that they had eyed earlier in the hour. 

Both of the boys turned away from each other as they silently put a hold on the emotional conversation to get an eyeful of the commotion. The carny that ran the stand was making a poor attempt at protecting himself, hands flat against his head as he shielded his scalp from the glass that had flown a moment prior.

Pete’s mouth rested agape as he stared at the stall.

Every bottle had been shattered into what appeared to be millions of pieces, glass dust settling with shimmers on any available surface of the amusement game. There wasn’t a single intact green glass bottle that was previously on display. All of them had been destroyed at once, the scene looking as if there had been a sonic wave of power that broke the glass into shards all at once.

Pete swung his head back to see the face of the ghost who was, without a doubt, responsible. 

Both of them were framing the same expression. Wide eyes, mouths agape with surprise, completely silent. Never before had Gary displayed any power that would imply he could cause such disaster, but the scene laid out in front of the two was undeniably his accomplishment.

Gary blinked at the glass bottles, unable to pull his eyes away from the cowering carny who was coated in loose glass that hung from his arms. He wasn’t seriously injured, but had a few scrapes from the sudden attack. A crowd was being pulled to the previously active game, murmurs of people questioning each other, “What in the _hell_ just happened?”

The ghost was asking himself the exact same thing.

Pete coughed a few times, bringing Gary back down to Earth with his gray faded eyes moving back to the smaller boy who stood in front of him. Neither of them were quite sure what to say, eyes meeting for only a moment as the silence rang out between them. Peter wasn’t feeling particularly _warm_ at the new revelation that Gary _did_ have some power affecting the physical world. 

In fact, it _scared_ him. It flipped his stomach and nerves on repeat without apology.

“Come on, Gare,” Pete mumbled in an almost inaudible whisper. “Let’s go home.”

The two boys began walking towards the exit of the carnival, passing by the funnels of stands for people to win tickets at. Gary couldn’t help but watch the carny he had just injured moments prior shakily clean up the glass with a handheld pan and broom, eyes staring at the ground that he was ridding of shards. His mind raced of the screaming match he and Pete had gotten into, but now there was another layer to the scene. 

The ghost focused his eyes to his own translucent hands, holding them up as he stared down at his palms in confusion. He had to have done that. That was all Gary. But _how?_

_How could he once more feel that surge of energy? How could he cause another reaction to the physical world?_

Gary had gotten a small taste for power, and as he had done previously when he had walked amongst the living, he craved to exploit his addiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: video-space
> 
> Thanks for reading aaaaa!!! Roselyn and I rewrote this chapter close to three times, so even though we had fun, it feels good to finally get it published! I also extended the word count by a bit to put in some fluffy content :)
> 
> Gary Smith being soft??? and being SYMPATHETIC? unheard of.
> 
> anyway thanks for reading!!! we worked a good deal on this chapter so please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed! 
> 
> \---
> 
> [hi it’s roselyn. i spent like????? 14 hours editing this. it’s great huh
> 
> bryce/vance are my life source now. this ship is so random and out there but wow it’s amazing and im glad we came up it
> 
> but yeah thank you for reading uwu we both spent so much time on this!! <333]


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